


Doomsday

by frockbot



Series: Tricksters [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Gen, M/M, Persona 3 References, Persona 3 Spoilers, Persona 4 References, Persona 5 Spoilers, Persona 5: The Royal, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Persona 5: The Royal, and akechi's Feelings and ren's Feelings about his Feelings, and the only p3 spoiler is for the ending so is it really a spoiler at this point, don't call it a crossover, figuring out how to love other people when you hate yourself, if you don't know anything about p3 or p4 you'll be just fine, the real focus here is akechi and ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frockbot/pseuds/frockbot
Summary: One year after Ren left Tokyo, he's back in town getting ready for college--and the universe decides to throw him another curveball. A terrible monster has escaped into the world. It's up to Ren and the Phantom Thieves to stop it. To do that, they'll need the combined power of the Wild Cards: Aigis, Yu Narukami, and...Goro Akechi. Who's alive. And hasn't called or texted. This time, things are going to be different.[76.5% of this is Akechi/Ren angst and figuring out how to be in love; 20% of it is battles against scary monsters; and the other 3.5% is references to Persona 3 and Persona 4. Don't worry: you don't have to know annnnything about P3 or P4 to jump in here.]
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Tricksters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765963
Comments: 123
Kudos: 427





	1. Pilate's Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _He had that look you very rarely find:_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgydDGW527o)
> 
> [ _The haunting, hunted kind_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgydDGW527o)

Ren knew he was in the Velvet Room even before he opened his eyes. It had been more than a year since he’d last visited in person, but he doubted he’d ever forget it: the damp, clinging chill in the air; the smell of dust and rot; the distant clink of chains and drip of water. It helped, of course, that he’d been here more than a few times in his dreams. Sometimes he was simply trapped, the cell door barred, utterly alone; other times he was faced with Caroline and Justine or Yaldabaoth or even Maruki, sneering at him from behind Igor’s desk, telling him that he’d failed or forgotten something important or let everyone down.

Which was it this time? he wondered as he sat up. Leather creaked against his skin, and he blinked down at himself: he was wearing the old, familiar waistcoat, tailcoat, and trousers. Joker’s outfit. He tugged on his gloves, admiring all over again their brilliant color. Red had always been his favorite.

“Welcome back,” said Igor’s voice, behind him.

“Trickster,” said Lavenza.

Joker looked around, got up off the cot, padded through the open door into the center of the room. Igor nodded at him from behind his desk, his long, slender hands clasped beneath his chin. He looked…grim. Lavenza, standing beside him, Compendium in hand, offered Joker a tiny smile; but Joker saw that her eyes were red, and felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

“Good evening, Trickster,” Igor said. “Good evening, everyone.”

Joker blinked as, all around him, his friends stepped out of the other cells. Ryuji, face hidden behind his Skull mask, caught Joker’s eye and mouthed, _What’s going on_? Futaba lifted her gigantic red goggles; Yusuke smoothed the fur on his tail; Ann tugged uncomfortably at her bodysuit. Makoto and Haru looked at each other, looked at Sumire, who was staring up and around, her mouth open. They were all in their Phantom Thieves outfits, even Morgana, who awkwardly adjusted his yellow scarf.

Well. Almost all of them. One of their number was missing, but Joker refused to think about him.

“Where are we?” Sumire breathed.

“This is the Velvet Room,” Igor said, beckoning them all forward. “Welcome, welcome. It has been a while.”

“Yeah, like…a year,” Ryuji said, scratching his head. “What’s goin’ on?”

“What happened?” Morgana asked Lavenza.

“Something terrible,” she said.

Joker felt a chill, heard several of his teammates gasp.

Lavenza paused, glancing at Igor. At his nod, she took a deep breath.

“My sister, Elizabeth, has been murdered,” Lavenza said.

“ _What_?” Morgana exclaimed.

“You…can die?” Yusuke said. “How is that possible? Aren’t you—”

Lavenza shook her head. “We’re not immortal, but we’re not easy to defeat, either. The creature that did this is a significant threat at the best of times. This year, even more so.”

“So you know what killed her?” Makoto asked.

“Yes,” Igor replied. “The culprit is a monster called _Erebus_. It is the embodiment of human sorrow.”

“Erebus manifests once each year and tries to bring about the fall of humanity,” Lavenza added. “Every year, it’s been defeated, first by a group of Persona-users like yourselves—”

“Ah!” Makoto muttered, half surprised, half triumphant.

“—and then by Elizabeth. This time, however…”

“After Maruki’s version of reality was erased,” Igor said, “all of humanity’s lives reverted back to the way they had been, and they forgot what he had done for them. But they still felt the pain of losing their happiness, however false it might have been.”

Futaba and Haru exchanged a look.

“That pain compounded Erebus’s power, enough to overwhelm Elizabeth. And to destroy the Great Seal.”

Lavenza flicked her hand, and before them a circular portal opened. Through it, they saw an expanse of stars; amber smoke coiling across the ground; and a massive golden door embossed with shifting eyes and spinning blades.

“For eight years, a statue stood in this place,” Lavenza said. “It was formed from the soul of a boy who sacrificed himself for humankind. He became the barrier that divided Erebus from its target, the goddess, Nyx. If Erebus comes into contact with Nyx, she will devour the world.”

“The statue _stood_ in that place?” said Ann. “Past tense? What happened to it?”

Lavenza’s eyes glittered with tears; she turned her face away.

“We don’t know,” Igor said. “But it is likely it was destroyed.”

“His name was Makoto Yuki,” Lavenza said, dashing her hand across her cheeks. “He was a Wild Card, Trickster, like you. Elizabeth was trying to find a way to free him, to bring him back to life. But now she’s gone. And it seems that Yuki-san is gone as well.”

More gasps, some murmurs. Joker frowned up at the portal, at the golden door.

“But then—where’s Erebus?” Ann demanded. “Has it already reached Nyx?”

“No,” Igor replied. “When we realized what was happening, we contacted another Wild Card, Yu Narukami. He and his friends—”

“How many Persona-users are there, anyway?” Ryuji muttered. Ann elbowed him.

“When Narukami-san and his friends reached the door, Erebus fled,” Igor said. “We don’t know where it went. That’s why we’ve called you here.”

“There are three tasks you need to complete. First,” Lavenza said, “you must gather together the remaining Wild Cards. You’ll need their power to defeat Erebus.” She flicked her hand again. “The first Wild Card is Aigis.”

Inside the portal, the great door disappeared. In its place was a smiling young woman. She had light skin, bright blue eyes, and chin-length blonde hair. She was wearing…headphones? Maybe? But there was a gap between her shoulders and arms, connected by gold metal, and when Joker squinted, he could see a seam running along her chin—

“Is she—a robot?” Haru asked, stepping closer.

“Yes. She was Yuki-san’s closest companion, and she inherited his powers when he died. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. We believe she’s in Mementos—”

“Mementos?” Ryuji said. “Ain’t Mementos gone?”

“The Metaverse is never gone,” Igor said. “You simply lacked the means to reach it. Those means have been restored to you.”

“The Meta-Nav,” Morgana said, tail swishing.

“Aigis,” Lavenza continued, “would normally have sought us out the moment she realized what had happened to Yuki-san. The fact that she hasn’t suggests that her cognition has been altered somehow. Either she’s unaware of Yuki-san’s predicament, or she’s actively lying to herself.”

“So we find her and wake her up,” Morgana said. “Got it.”

“The other Wild Card,” Lavenza said, “is Goro Akechi.”

They didn’t need to see his face, but she showed them anyway: mild-mannered, tousle-haired, with the slightest of smiles to suggest he knew something they didn’t. Everyone gasped or exclaimed, except for Joker, who opened his mouth to do so but found he couldn’t breathe.

“He’s alive?” Makoto said, covering her mouth.

“Yes.”

“You knew, and you didn’t tell us?” Futaba cried.

Joker found his voice, harsher than he intended: “You didn’t tell _me_?”

Everyone looked at him. Lavenza clasped her hands together.

“He asked us not to,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Someone else started talking—probably Ryuji, if the sudden flailing in Joker’s peripheral vision was any indication—but Joker couldn’t hear them. Time seemed to have slowed down, concentrated on this single point.

He took off his mask, stepped forward, stared up at Akechi’s face. He looked…the same, give or take an extra shadow under his eyes. Smug. Self-satisfied.

 _God_ , Ren had missed him.

Akechi would have accused him of brainless sentimentality, and technically he would’ve been right. For all that Ren had felt connected to Akechi, for all that he’d seen him as the flip side to his own coin, they hadn’t exactly bonded over shared interests. There had been chess games, coffee runs, trips to cafes and jazz clubs and bathhouses, but it was impossible to know how many of those experiences had been genuine and how many had been designed to lower Ren’s guard.

The exception was the last month they’d spent together, after Maruki had brought Akechi…not back to life, apparently, but back to them. Back to _him_ , to Ren. Akechi with his mask off. Akechi raw and bloodthirsty, finally free of his princely facade.

Akechi’s breath ragged in Ren’s ear, his moan in Ren’s mouth, his hands everywhere—

After Akechi died, after Ren sacrificed him to stop Maruki, Ren had kept his mourning to himself. All of his friends pitied Akechi to varying degrees, and some of them wished they’d had more time to try to help him; but the particular flavor of Ren’s grief would have shocked and probably appalled them. How could you love a murderer? _Your_ murderer? How could you love a man you hadn’t really known? Who was it, _what_ was it, that you loved, exactly? Ren didn’t have answers to these questions, so he hadn’t invited their asking. He’d simply spent a year with his regrets, and his dreams, and the dull ache in his chest.

An ache that was fluttering now, into a spark, into a flame, the pilot light in his heart blazing high, Raoul simmering in his blood—

“Where is he?” Ren asked, cutting clear through the chatter around him.

“In Tokyo, attending school,” Lavenza said. “He’s enrolled at Tokyo Metropolitan University.”

“Futaba,” Ren said, “can you get me his class schedule? And see if you can get a read on his movements somehow. Try tracking his phone, maybe.”

Futaba nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“It won’t be easy,” Igor warned. “We have reason to believe that his perception has been tampered with, too. He may not remember you.”

“I’ll make him remember,” Ren said, putting his mask back on.

“You must awaken Akechi to his memories, and Aigis to the truth,” Lavenza said. “As we speak, my brother, Theodore, is apprising Yuki-san’s friends of the situation. When you’re ready to find Aigis, reach out to them. They’ll help you.”

“How long do we have?” Yusuke asked.

“Narukami-san and his allies have engaged Nyx in battle,” Igor said. “As long as she is occupied with them, Erebus can’t reach her. But they won’t last forever. You have a few days. Don’t dawdle.”

“We won’t,” Joker said.

A faint chime rang through the room.

“Our time is nearly up,” Igor said. “Trickster, stay a moment. The rest of you, please excuse us.”

“Wait,” Makoto said. “What’s the third thing?”

“Huh?” said Ryuji. “What d’you mean?”

“Lavenza-san, you said we had three tasks. Find the Wild Cards, defeat Erebus, and then…what was the third thing?”

“We must discuss that with the Trickster privately,” Igor replied.

Joker sensed their hesitation, and turned. “It’s okay. I got this. You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” Sumire asked.

“Positive.”

They all exchanged glances, but went.

“Trickster,” Lavenza said, once they were alone. “Erebus can’t be destroyed permanently. If you defeat it now, it will return in a year, as it always has. And it will try to reach Nyx.”

“We have to destroy Nyx, then,” Joker said.

Lavenza lowered her head. “Unfortunately, that is impossible.”

Joker frowned.

“Nyx is a force of nature. She can’t be killed. Yuki-san was just as strong as you, if not moreso; if anyone could have stopped her, it was him. But all he could do was seal her away. She must be sealed again.”

“How do we do that?”

“The same way Yuki-san did: by using the power of your bonds to form a new Great Seal.”

Joker stood still.

“Yu Narukami could form the Seal as well,” Igor put in. “He has powerful connections, like you. And he is of course in possession of the Wild Card.”

“But if he does that,” Joker said slowly, “he’ll die. Or…I’ll die.”

“Yes,” Lavenza whispered.

Joker looked down at his feet, his brow furrowing.

“Elizabeth was looking for an alternative,” Lavenza said. “If she found one, she never said so. And now that she’s gone…”

“There has to be another way,” Joker muttered, shaking his head.

“If you can figure one out, by all means, try it,” Igor said. “But if you can’t, _someone_ will need to form the Seal. All we ask is that you consider it.”

Joker was tired of ultimatums, especially around death. What good was being the Trickster if everything was preordained? If you couldn’t change the outcome?

They were wrong. They had to be.

“I’ll think about it,” Joker said.

“May luck be on your side,” Lavenza said.

***

The rapid pinging of Ren’s phone woke him up, followed by Morgana landing heavily on his chest.

“What did Lavenza want to talk to you about?” Morgana demanded. “Tell me or I’ll scratch you!”

Ren sat up, gently pushed him off, and grabbed his phone. The first thing he saw when he switched on the screen was a notification from his news app: TENTH SUICIDE IN SUBWAY; MAN HANGED IN MAINTENANCE TUNNEL. Ren swiped it away and opened the Phantom Thieves group chat.

The messages were flying so fast that Ren could barely read them. Sighing through his nose, he typed, _Everyone calm down_ , and set his phone aside to wait out the renewed frenzy.

“So,” Morgana said, tail swishing. “Akechi, huh? I can’t believe he’s alive. I really thought…”

“Me too,” Ren said, managing somehow to keep his voice from catching.

“He’s first on the list, right?”

“Yes. As soon as Futaba figures out how to find him, I’ll go see him.” _And hit him. And kiss him. And tell him I—tell him—_

“What’ll you do about work?”

Ren looked around the room. The minute he’d graduated from high school, he’d left his hometown for Tokyo and resumed residence in Leblanc’s attic. This time, he was paying rent—he’d insisted—and he’d put extra effort into making the place feel homey. He had a real bed, for example, and string lights, and even a rug. He’d resumed pretty much all of his part-time jobs, including pitching in for Sojiro, until he started university in April.

“This is more important,” he said.

Morgana peered at him. “Be careful, okay?”

Ren cocked his head. Morgana sat down, curled his tail around his paws.

“Even when Akechi knew you, he wasn’t exactly friendly,” Morgana pointed out. “And if he’s forgotten you, well…he could be dangerous.”

Ha, ha. In more ways than one.

“I’ll be careful,” Ren promised, picking up his phone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've marked this as part of a series with a pwp I wrote, The Tricksters, but you don't have to read that to jump in here! Suffice it to say, Ren and Akechi slept together before they finished Maruki off, so Ren's been Extra Sad that Akechi was supposedly dead.


	2. Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** violence, blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[And the truth has a habit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gCw_zPqzA5o) _
> 
> _[Of falling out of your mouth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gCw_zPqzA5o) _

[CHATLOG. Futaba Sakura to Ren Amamiya, 1:12PM, 3/14/XX]

_Okay. Get this: he’s still using the same phone_

_He didn’t even change his number_

_He really didn’t expect anyone to look for him, huh?_

(He was right, Ren thought, with a pang.)

_Anyway, I figured out his schedule. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays he’s in class from 8 to noon_

_After that he always goes to the same café and hangs out for a few hours. Probably studying_

_I figure if you show up at the café you could talk to him_

_I’ll send you the location_

Ren’s phone beeped as Futaba shared the destination.

_Thanks, Futaba._

_np! Good luck. Don’t die_

Morgana refused to be left behind, so together they made their way to Tokyo Metropolitan University’s main campus in Hachioji. The café in question was right at the edge of campus, one of a number of shops and restaurants that clearly catered to the student body. It was a white, square, freestanding structure with a huge bank of windows along its front and left sides. Ren sidled up to it and glanced inside, carefully keeping his face averted.

There he was. _There he was_.

Akechi was seated in a booth by the far wall, one gloved hand marking his place in a textbook while the other scribbled something. A line between his eyebrows betrayed either focus or frustration; his mouth was set tight and stern. He wore a grey button-down dress shirt, and just visible over his shoulder was his tan peacoat, draped over the back of his chair.

He had lost weight. His cheekbones stood out starker against his face than Ren remembered. Or—or maybe they’d always looked like that, sharp and hollow. It was hard to recall, impossible to know. A year wasn’t long enough to forget what someone looked like, was it?

Ren couldn’t believe he was here.

“All right,” Morgana said, wriggling out of Ren’s bag and hopping to the ground. “I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Ren said, and went inside.

Akechi didn’t look up when the bell over the door rang, when the barista called “Welcome!” or even when the newcomer’s footsteps approached him. It was only when Ren’s shadow fell over him that his head snapped up, eyes bright, lethal.

“Can I help you?” he asked, coldly.

No more softboy detective façade, then. Ren stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked his hips to one side. “Are you…Goro Akechi?”

Akechi’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Yes. Who’s asking?”

“I’m Ren Amamiya. Can I sit?”

“No. What do you want?”

Ren couldn’t completely suppress his smile, and he saw Akechi’s jaw clench in annoyance. “I never expected to run into you in person. I was a big fan of yours.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Especially during the whole Phantom Thieves thing. Could I ask you a couple of questions about that?”

“No,” Akechi said, returning to his work. “I’m busy.”

Ren rested his hand on the edge of the table. Akechi scowled at it.

“I could never decide which of you I wanted to win, you know?” Ren said. “It was weird. Most people fell really hard on one side or the other, but I liked you both.”

Akechi curled his lip. “You were a Phanboy?”

“Something like that. You sure I can’t sit down?”

“Positive.”

“I guess I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the Phantom Thieves. Especially their leader—you talked to him, right? You interrogated him?”

Akechi met his gaze. For a split second—so brief it might have just been Ren’s imagination, wishful thinking—there was something…but then it was gone.

“Who are you, exactly?” Akechi asked.

“Ren. My friends call me Joker.”

“Joker.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not a name.”

“You’re right. It’s a nickname.”

“No one in their right mind would call someone _Joker_.”

“Speak for yourself, Crow.”

 _There it was again_. A spark, a glint, like the first glimpse of diamond glittering inside a lump of coal. Ren definitely hadn’t imagined it this time.

“I’m leaving,” Akechi said, and started gathering up his things.

“It’ll only take a minute. I promise.”

Akechi zipped his bag, swung it over his shoulder, and left.

***

Round two.

This time, when Ren came in, Akechi glanced at him and sighed theatrically. Ren grinned.

“Hello again,” he said, plopping down across from him.

“Not even going to ask permission, this time?”

“Nah. So, about the Phantom Thieves—”

“I have work to do.”

“I was just wondering—it’s always confused me, what happened at the end there.” Ren leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees. “The police said their leader committed suicide. But he showed up on TV, supposedly, a few weeks later. And _then_ Masayoshi Shido confessed to all sorts of crimes. Did they steal his heart? Did their leader help them do it? Was he dead, or not?”

“Leave me alone,” Akechi said.

“You talked to him, right? What was it like? Was there a secret interrogation room in a basement? Did you switch off the camera so you could—” Ren punched his own palm—“you know, _really_ get him to talk?”

Akechi shuddered, winced, put his hand to his head.

“Akechi-san?”

“Who _are_ you?” Akechi demanded.

“I’m Ren.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Ren took a deep breath. “I…want to figure out what happened to the Phantom Thieves. Most people seem to think they were just a hoax. But you fought them, right? You met their leader. Do you know where they went after they changed Shido’s heart? Did you arrest them?”

Akechi was shaking his head, slamming books and notebooks closed, shoving them into his bag.

“Do you not remember?” Ren asked, as if this had only just occurred to him.

Akechi stopped. “What?”

“I mean, you’d think you’d remember,” Ren said reasonably. “It was your greatest triumph, wasn’t it? But maybe it was just another job for you.”

“Of course I remember.”

“Then what—”

“They were granted immunity. Their leader testified in Shido’s trial.” The words came painfully, like nails wrenched out of wood.

“But he died, didn’t he? He committed suicide.”

“That was a lie. Obviously. The police let him escape and tried to cover it up by claiming he was dead.”

“How did he get away, then? Were you there? Did you see it?”

Ren tried to channel Mishima, tried to keep his face open and eager, even as his heart danced against his sternum. Akechi stared back at him, eyes hunted, dark. He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember, and that bothered him.

But then the door closed again behind Akechi’s expression, and he stood up. “Goodbye.”

Ren slumped back into his seat, sighed. Strike two. Time to play hardball.

***

The next day, when Ren dropped into the chair across from Akechi, Akechi snarled and threw down his pen.

“I knew coming back here was a bad idea,” he said, ripping open his bag. “I knew you—”

“Akechi, I need your help,” Ren said.

Akechi paused, squinted at him. “What?”

“Something’s happening. Something big. I need to know how much you remember.”

“What are you—”

“Do you remember the Metaverse?” Ren asked, lowering his voice. “Do you remember what you did there?”

Akechi’s nostrils flared.

“You were Shido’s attack dog. You would kill people’s Shadows and cause mental shutdowns—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akechi breathed, but Ren could see by the way the light caught his irises, like the gleam of a knife, that he did. He knew exactly what Ren was talking about, and if there hadn’t been witnesses around, Akechi probably would have killed him right then and there.

“Do you remember Shido’s Palace?” Ren insisted, scanning Akechi’s face, searching the stark planes of his cheeks and the harsh line of his mouth for any indication that he was making progress. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

Akechi grimaced, pressed the heel of his hand against his eye.

“We fought,” Ren said. “You tried to kill us. But then, when your cognition showed up—”

“What are you _talking_ —”

“—you closed the bulkhead door. We thought you were dead. I—”

“ _Shut up_!” Akechi roared, shooting to his feet. There was a clatter of breaking ceramic as the barista dropped a mug. “Shut up! Shut _up_! Who the hell are you? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Do you remember Maruki?” Ren demanded, standing up too, slamming his hands on the table. “Do you remember waking up in a world where everything was good and nothing hurt, but no one had any free will? Do you remember coming into Leblanc and—”

Akechi rounded the table, came almost forehead-to-forehead with Ren. “ _Stay away from me_.”

And he stormed out. Ren caught his breath, shouted, “Akechi!” and ran after him.

Akechi charged down the sidewalk; passersby scurried out of his way, alarmed by whatever violence they saw in his face. Ren caught up, kept close on his heels.

“Lavenza says something’s coming,” Ren said. “I need your help. We have to stop it. We—”

“ _Who are you_?” Akechi hissed, spinning around so fast that Ren actually ran into him. Akechi fisted his hand in Ren’s shirt, spittle flying between his teeth. “What is this? Are you one of his goons? Has he finally come to his senses and sent you to finish me off?”

“What?” Ren’s jaw dropped. “No! This has nothing to do with Shido!”

“ _Bullshit_. Of course it does. It has to. No one else knows—”

“ _We_ know. _I know_. You have to remember, Akechi. I need—”

Akechi punched him. The force of the blow half-spun him around; his lip split against his teeth; he tasted blood. Akechi grabbed him by the hair, hauled him sideways, slammed him into a wall. The breath whooshed out of Ren’s lungs; he grunted; dropped to one knee when Akechi let him go.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Akechi said, slick and sharp as a bloodied knife. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”

He turned and left.

“Joker!” Morgana cried, scrambling up beside him. “Are you okay?”

Ren touched his throbbing lip, coughed, spat. “I’m fine.”

“That looked like it hurt.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Morgana sat down and curled his tail around his paws. “So. What are you gonna do now?”

Ren sighed through his nose. “I’m going to give him what he wants.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” He opened his bag. “Let’s go home.”

***

The next day, Akechi didn’t go to the café. But Ren had expected this, and started following him first thing in the morning.

It was a minor miracle that Akechi didn’t notice him, even though Ren was exceedingly careful. Ren had never been much for gods, and having killed two of them he didn’t imagine they were very keen on him either, but someone was smiling on him today. He had at least four narrow misses—one outside a lecture hall, two outside the library, and another on the train—but none of them ended in catastrophe. Now, as the shadows stretched long and the sunlight turned first to gold and then to crimson, Ren followed Akechi toward his apartment, keeping back a block and a half.

Once they reached an empty stretch of road, Ren took his phone out of his pocket, unlocked the screen, and tapped the Meta-Nav. The landscape didn’t change—they weren’t inside a Palace, just the cognitive version of Tokyo—but as soon as Ren put his phone away again, he was engulfed in a familiar blossom of cold blue fire.

“Did you think I wouldn’t realize I was being followed?” Akechi purred.

Joker looked up. Akechi stood six feet away from him, a walking void, distinguishable from the gathering darkness only by the glint of his visor and the shock of his white teeth as he smiled. In the failing sunlight, his gun, leveled at Joker’s head, gleamed scarlet.

Joker rolled his shoulders, tipped his head from side to side, and sprinted toward him.

 _If you got somebody pointin’ a gun at you, rush ‘em,_ Iwai had told him once. _You’d be surprised how much harder it is to shoot a close target. Much less a movin’ one_.

Akechi fired, missed, fired again, _bang-bang-bang_ as Joker sprang into the air, spun over Akechi’s head, and drew his knife to slash at Akechi’s back. Akechi whirled, drawing his saber, the blade sparking as it connected with Joker’s; Akechi growled, shoved Joker backward, took aim again, and cursed as Joker danced out of the way.

Joker didn’t want to hurt him. He’d have to do at least a little damage to get Akechi to come to his senses, but if he could avoid causing him too much pain, he would. He certainly wasn’t going to use any of his Personas. He drew his own gun, pointed it at Akechi’s shoulder, fired—

\--and missed. Akechi put his hand to his mask, screamed, “ _Loki_!” and with a flash of light and spray of blood leveled a massive slash at Joker. Joker somersaulted to avoid it, feeling a blow at his throat: if he was back to using Loki, he really didn’t remember Joker at all. Joker turned the somersault into a flip, and then into a lunge, and swung the hilt of his knife at the side of Akechi’s head.

He struck home, felt the black mask reverberate beneath his fingers. Akechi screamed. Crimson light glinted behind his visor.

Uh-oh.

Howling to wake the dead, Akechi launched himself at Joker, slashing up down left right backward forward the air singing his saber humming Joker ducked and twisted and twirled and even did a backflip thank you Sumire to avoid an especially nasty swing

Not good enough. As soon as Joker’s feet touched the ground, Akechi was there, and the very tip of his saber caught Joker’s cheek. Joker saw white, then red, hurt his throat crying out, managed to dive sideways to avoid a killing blow, and then roll to avoid a killing shot. His face throbbed; his neck felt hot and wet.

Cackling, Akechi flung himself forward again. Joker had had enough. As the saber came down, Joker twisted around and past it, drew his gun, drove the barrel into Akechi’s shoulder and fired. Akechi screeched; blood spurted across Joker’s arm, soaking into his sleeve. Joker tossed the gun to his other hand, slammed the grip against Akechi’s jaw, drew his knife and swung the hilt into Akechi’s temple. Akechi’s mask broke. He staggered. Joker tossed his weapons behind himself, vaulted at Akechi, bore him down to the ground and pinned his wrists.

Akechi thrashed and writhed and kicked, gnashing his teeth, bucking his hips. Joker pursed his lips, tightened his grip, braced his knees against the sidewalk.

“Akechi,” he panted. “Akechi! _Crow_!”

Akechi froze, mouth slightly open. His eyes, one cast red by his visor and the other shining yellow in the sunlight, widened.

“Joker,” he said.

Joker sagged, cupped Akechi’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Akechi gasped against his mouth, reached up, wrapped one arm around his shoulders. There was an ache in Joker’s throat, a tightness in his chest as if his heart was being squeezed—

Then Akechi bit him, hard, and Joker felt a lancing pain as the cut in his lip reopened. He jerked his head up, gasping, wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Had to return the favor,” Akechi murmured, and ran a clawed thumb across Joker’s bloodied cheek. “I’ve never seen you bleed before,” he added mildly. “It’s as satisfying as I imagined.”

A shiver skated up Joker’s spine, leaving heat in its wake. But this wasn’t the place. He stood up, pressed his fingers to his mask.

“Cybele,” he said. “ _Mediarahan_.”

His pain vanished. Akechi made a pleased noise and got up too, massaging his healed shoulder.

“So,” Akechi said. “You need my help?”

***

They headed for Akechi’s apartment. On the way, Ren explained the situation. Akechi listened without looking at him, his eyes fixed on some vague point up ahead. Occasionally he “hmm”ed and lifted his hand to his chin, but he offered no opinions or insights. He unlocked the door to his building, clearly moving on autopilot, and Ren followed him up the stairs, lowering his voice so none of his neighbors would hear.

Akechi’s apartment was…sparse. It had to be, given how small it was; it made Leblanc’s attic look like a hotel suite. There was a tiny fridge, a sink, a hot plate, a microwave, and a few cabinets along a wall that passed as a kitchenette; a desk lodged in one corner; and a narrow bed, immaculately made in dark purple sheets. Ren assumed that the door to his left led into a bathroom, but honestly, he couldn’t be sure.

“Would you like some coffee?” Akechi asked, switching on the hot plate. “It’s instant, but it should take the edge off.”

“Sure.”

Akechi produced a kettle and got to work. Ren took off his shoes, set them neatly beside Akechi’s, and made the (very short) round to examine everything more closely. There wasn’t much to see. No pictures. A canvas splashed with red and gold hung on one wall; probably it had come with the apartment. Ren opened the mystery door and confirmed that, yes, Akechi had a toilet, sink, and shower, what luxury.

The tightness in Ren’s chest hadn’t gone away, and in fact seemed to be intensifying. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, frowned at the blood crusted to his face and neck, and turned on the faucet. He splashed his face, mopped his throat with toilet paper. The water was icy cold, but that was fine. Ren felt hot all over, and slow, and stupid.

He turned off the water, patted his skin dry, and stepped out of the bathroom to find Akechi waiting for him with a steaming mug. He accepted it, sniffed its contents. Ugh. It didn’t even smell like coffee.

“Akechi,” Ren said, and Akechi turned away and went to sit on the edge of his bed.

“This creature,” he said, crossing his legs. “Erebus. Does it have any weaknesses?”

Ren’s throat contracted, but he heard himself say, “Not that the Shadow Operatives—uh, Yuki-san’s group—know of. They basically beat it into submission.”

“Why can’t they do that this time?”

“It’s more powerful now. I guess when Maruki’s cognition disappeared, a lot of people fell pretty far. Erebus feeds on sorrow, so that made it stronger.”

“I see.” Akechi blew on his coffee, sipped it, made a face. “Well, it seems like a worthwhile challenge.”

“Then you’ll help us?”

“Yes, I think I will.” Akechi took another long drink. “What of Nyx? Will we be killing her as well?”

Ren set his coffee down. Even if his stomach hadn’t been leapfrogging violently, he couldn’t imagine drinking this stuff. “Lavenza doesn’t think she _can_ be killed.”

Akechi snorted. “Everything can be killed. Even gods.”

“That’s what I said.” Ren balled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, put them in his pockets, advanced further into the room. “We should at least try.”

“I agree. No sense leaving a job half-done.”

Ren slowly, carefully lowered himself to sit on the bed. Akechi didn’t move, but Ren saw the tendons in his neck tighten.

“Akechi, where have you been?” Ren asked quietly.

“Here. Going to school.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, _why_? I have to do something with my life, don’t I?”

“You could’ve come to Leblanc. You could’ve texted us. We thought—”

“Please,” Akechi scoffed. “Don’t pretend you gave me a moment’s consideration.”

“Of course I did. We all did.”

“Then you’re as foolish as ever. Surely you had your own trials to deal with.”

“Sure. You dying was one of them.”

Akechi looked at him, really, genuinely surprised. Then he remembered himself.

“Well, you wasted your energy. I’ve tried to tell you. Worrying about other people is pointless. All it does is expose your weaknesses.” He was clearly trying to be wry, vicious, but Ren saw the shadows beneath his eyes. “It makes you vulnerable.”

“What’s wrong with being vulnerable?”

“You’re not _that_ stupid, Joker. Every person in your life is a possible point of attack. Even you couldn’t withstand those blows.”

Ren swallowed. His mouth felt sandy, gritty. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

“Well,” Akechi said. “So am I.”

Ren braced his hands against the mattress, pivoted so that he could draw his knee up onto the bed and face Akechi. He reached out, extracted the mug from Akechi’s grasp, and set it on the desk.

“Don’t do this,” Akechi said softly.

“Do what?”

“You _know_ what. Don’t be…soft. Weak. We’re not…”

Ren touched Akechi’s hair, tucked it back behind his ear, traced the curve of his earlobe and then the crook of his jaw. Akechi shivered. Ren curled his fingers beneath Akechi’s chin, gently turned his head so he could meet his eyes. Akechi looked…exhausted. Vulnerable.

Ren kissed him again, feather-light at first, testing the waters. Akechi didn’t move, didn’t stiffen. Ren leaned in, lifted one hand to Akechi’s cheek, and when he opened his mouth Akechi did too. They had never kissed like this before, slow and languorous, as if they had all the time in the world to explore the taste of each other, to savor the grate of their teeth and the slip of their tongues.

Ren curled his other hand around the back of Akechi’s neck, started to shift closer, but suddenly Akechi shot off the bed, away from him.

“ _No_ , Joker,” he snarled. “No.”

Ren sucked his lower lip against his teeth, got to his feet. “Why not?”

“What makes you think I want you slobbering all over me? What makes you think I have any interest in you at all?”

“You kissed me back.”

“Because I want to fuck you!” It was calculated to hurt; Ren flinched despite himself, and Akechi’s eyes gleamed with a hungry triumph. “That’s all this is! That’s all it’s _ever_ been. I’ve never wanted to—”

“Make yourself vulnerable?” Ren asked, glowering up at Akechi from under his bangs. “Expose your weaknesses?”

Akechi choked. Ren stepped toward him, and Akechi stepped backward.

“You’re right, you know,” Ren said, holding his gaze. “Loving people _does_ make you vulnerable. But it also makes you stronger, because you have them to protect you.”

“Until they can’t,” Akechi spat, looking wildly around, a cornered animal scrabbling for escape. “Until they’re dead, or gone, or—”

“And then you find someone else.”

“ _There is no one else_!”

“Goro,” Ren said, like a plea, and Akechi’s eyes went wide.

Ren saw his own fear reflected back at him, hurt upon hurt upon hurt cascading into a yawning abyss. Ren was lucky; in his darkest moments, he’d had friends to help him find a way back into the light. Akechi had no one. He’d been alone, all this time. And afraid.

Akechi’s back hit the wall. He was shaking, vibrating with an intensity that rendered him almost blurry. Ren stopped inches away, close enough that he could feel the warmth of Akechi’s body without touching him.

“Let me,” he murmured, lifting his hand.

Akechi’s mouth twisted, and he drove his elbow sharply into Ren’s chest. Ren barked with surprise and pain; Akechi shoved him aside, stepped away from the wall, drew himself up.

“Get out,” Akechi said.

Ren shook his head, massaging his ribs.

“I said _get out_ ,” Akechi repeated, baring his teeth. “Go!”

Ren straightened up, wiped his face. He put his shoes back on.

“I’ll text you when it’s time to meet,” he said, and went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dw, hereward came back as soon as akechi remembered ren


	3. Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[There’s a strange exhilaration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dk3H2yvsH-U) _
> 
> _[In such total detestation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dk3H2yvsH-U) _

[CHATLOG. Ren Amamiya to Goro Akechi; Ken Amada; Junpei Iori; and 11 others… 10:21AM, 3/18/XX]

_It’s about time we went looking for Aigis._

_Can everyone meet at Café Leblanc in Yongen-Jaya tomorrow at noon?_

That was all Akechi needed to see, and explained why his phone had been blowing up all day. He didn’t bother answering. What had Joker called him? Shido’s _attack dog_? Well, dogs came when called. Joker could count on that.

Akechi deliberately arrived at the café some twenty minutes late, so he wouldn’t have to endure everyone else's looks of pity or hatred or disgust. And also, if he was being honest, to avoid any alone time with Joker. He didn’t think Joker would try anything after their last encounter, but he also knew that he’d wounded his pride, and he didn’t feel like dealing with the fallout from that right now.

Akechi was surprised to feel a dull ache in his chest as he turned down the street toward Leblanc. That was very curious. Was this nostalgia? Had he really been so attached to that coffee and curry? It wasn’t like he’d missed the place before now. Sure, he’d wondered about Sakura-san and how he was getting on. Once or twice, as he’d poured himself a watery mug of instant sludge, he’d mournfully recalled Leblanc’s coffee, dark and full-bodied, sometimes with an underlying sweetness and sometimes with an acidic tang.

He had _not_ thought about Joker.

Akechi straightened his shirtsleeves and opened the door.

For half a second, none of them realized he was there, and that was all the time he needed to take in the scene. (He wasn’t a detective for nothing.) Yukari Takeba, Shadow Operative turned actress, sat sandwiched between Ann Takamaki and Futaba Sakura. Takamaki and Takeba seemed to be comparing hairstyles; Takeba wore a pixie cut, which showed off her long neck, and Takamaki had foregone her favored pigtails for a single ponytail high on her head. Across the table from them were Fuuka Yamagishi, toying with the end of her long, pale green braid, and Haru Okumura, showing her something on her phone.

Sumire Yoshizawa perched on the edge of the bench beside Okumura, but she was turned to face a boy sitting behind her. For a confusing moment, Akechi thought he was looking at _himself_ , brown hair, dark eyes, and all: but no, it was Ken Amada, relaxed and smiling in a black blazer over a white shirt and black slacks. A grey and white Shiba Inu lay at Amada’s feet, panting, gazing through huge red eyes at Morgana, crouched on the table above its head. Morgana was pointedly not looking at the dog.

To Amada’s right was Junpei Iori, solid and muscular, grinning; and across from him were Yusuke Kitagawa, doodling on a napkin, and Ryuji Sakamato, leaning forward and flailing as he told some story. Arrayed on the stools along the counter were Makoto Niijima, talking quietly with Mitsuru Kirijo; Akihiko Sanada, the detective, listening in; and—

Joker glanced at Akechi, smiled. At that moment, the bell above the door rang, and everyone fell silent and looked around.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Akechi said, stepping sideways to lean against the wall. “Just pretend I'm not here.”

“Akechi-san,” Sumire said, beaming. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yoshizawa-san.”

Takamaki smiled at Akechi too, and Kitagawa inclined his head toward him, but everyone else looked either nervous (Takeba, Makoto, Yamagishi, Okumura), carefully neutral (Akihiko, Amada, Sakura, Iori), or outright angry (Sakamoto, Mitsuru).

Akechi couldn’t resist. “Hello, Mitsuru-san. Akihiko-san.”

“Akechi,” said Akihiko.

Mitsuru gave Akechi a look of blatant dislike, stood up, and turned to Joker.

“Before we officially begin, I have to apologize to you,” she told him. Joker blinked. “I oversee a team that specializes in fighting Shadows. Some of my subordinates were part of the operation that led to your arrest.” Mitsuru cut Akechi a glance; he barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “We were… _misled_ about the nature of the threat you posed. I must apologize, especially, that you were handed over to Masayoshi Shido’s men, who treated you so brutally. I am terribly sorry.”

And she put her hands on her thighs and bowed, her long red hair falling forward into her face. Akechi rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

“Uh,” Joker said. “It’s really okay. Water under the bridge.”

“Actually,” said Takeba, twisting her hands together, “we should all apologize. We should’ve realized the Phantom Thieves weren’t the ones causing the problem.”

“Yeah,” Iori put in. “We didn’t figure out that you guys were on our side until everything started popping off downtown.”

“Certainly, we should have reached out to you long before now,” Mitsuru added, straightening up. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Takamaki said, waving her hand. “Really! We had each other. Right, guys?”

A hum of agreement. Mitsuru smoothed her skirt as she resumed her seat.

“Right,” said Makoto. “Let’s get down to business, then. Fuuka and Futaba have confirmed that there’s a new floor in Mementos. They can tell that Aigis is down there, but not exactly where she is.”

“It’s like a labyrinth,” Futaba said. “Wait’ll you guys see it. It’s totally different from anything we’ve encountered before.”

“It reminds me of Tartarus,” Fuuka murmured. “Our version of Mementos, I suppose. It was always changing.”

“It’s all one floor, but there’s like, sixteen different paths.”

“So we think it would be best if we split up,” Makoto said. “We’ll cover more ground that way. Fuuka and Futaba can track our locations, so we won’t get lost.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Amada asked, scratching the Shiba Inu’s ears. “If this is like Tartarus, it’ll change as we explore it. If a wall closes, or something—”

“Mementos doesn’t work that way,” Morgana said. “It changes between floors, but not within them.”

“We can’t take for granted that any of this will go how we expect,” said Mitsuru. “All we can do is our best.”

Ugh. How nauseating.

“We’ve divided everyone into teams,” Makoto said. “Each team will explore part of the area. If you find Aigis, don’t engage. Radio in and let everyone else know where you are. Hopefully, we’ll be able to talk her out of whatever brainwashing she’s been subjected to. If not, we’ll have to fight her. We’re better off fighting her together.”

“You said you wanted to be a police commissioner?” Akihiko asked, appraising her.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Akihiko smiled. “You’ll be good at it.”

Makoto swelled with pride. Akechi pretended to gag. Mitsuru glowered at him.

“What are the teams?” Kitagawa asked.

Makoto switched on her phone. “Let’s see. Fuuka and Futaba will be navi, as always. Then we’ve got me, Ken, Koromaru—” The dog cocked his head—“and Yusuke. Next is Mitsuru, Yukari, Haru, and Ryuji. Akihiko, Junpei, Ann, and Morgana. And—” Makoto hesitated, eyed Joker. “Ren, Akechi, and Sumire.”

“What was that look for?” Akechi asked. “You don’t trust me alone with him?”

“ _I_ certainly don’t,” Mitsuru said.

“No, Akechi, that’s not it,” Makoto said. “Really. You two are our strongest fighters. I just don’t know if all that power should be concentrated in one place. If we could spread it out…”

“We’re also Wild Cards,” Joker pointed out. “We’re more likely to come across Aigis than the rest of you. If we’re together, we can hold her off until you all get there.”

“I suppose so…”

“He’s made up his mind,” Sakamoto said curtly. Clearly this was a longstanding point of contention. “There’s no changing it.”

“If that’s all,” Akechi said, “then shall we be going?”

Everyone looked at Joker, who smiled.

“Every time I say this, I think it’s the last time,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

Akechi didn’t feel like leading the pack, so he stayed still while the others gathered their things and headed for the door. He sneered at Mitsuru as she passed him, frowned when Amada held his gaze for just a moment too long. Finally, as Akechi straightened up to follow everyone, Joker caught his eye and shook his head. _Wait_.

Akechi sighed, and stood there until the door had swung shut.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m sorry about the other night.”

Akechi’s heart jolted as if he’d missed a step on the stairs. “Excuse me?”

“I shouldn’t have kept pushing when you told me to stop,” Joker said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Akechi opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I…see. Thank you.”

Joker tilted his head from one side to the other, loosening his neck. “All right. Let’s—”

“I should apologize as well,” Akechi blurted. He didn’t usually blurt things, that wasn’t his style, but the words seemed to tumble out of their own accord.

Joker raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Akechi cleared his throat, tugged on his gloves. “I overreacted, obviously. And I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry.”

Joker’s face lit up as he smiled.

“Thanks,” Joker said. “Okay. So we’re good?”

Akechi snorted. “Yes, Joker. We are ‘good.’”

“Off we go, then.”

***

“It really is like Tartarus,” Yukari whispered.

The Phantom Thieves and Shadow Operatives stood at the end of a long, darkened hallway. Beneath their feet were smooth, shiny black and white marble tiles. In some places, the tile crept up the walls; in others, the walls were bare, and painted a sickly green. The ceiling was obscured by black smoke. From their position, they could see maybe twenty feet straight ahead. Other paths split off from this one through numerous archways, some square and some rounded, all stone. The map Futaba had shown them suggested that some of the paths twisted, others turned, and still more spiraled up or down flights of stairs.

The moment they’d stepped foot in Mementos, the Shadow Operatives had assumed outfits not unlike the Phantom Thieves. Yukari wore a pink bodysuit with white gloves, a white holster, a pink cape, and a high, flared collar, much like her costume on TV. Ken’s blazer and slacks had morphed into something approaching a tuxedo, with a yellow band around his upper arm; Koromaru danced alongside him in an orange puffer jacket with plastic white wings.

Junpei seemed to be wearing a baseball uniform, with his jersey open to reveal a black shirt underneath; Akihiko was completely shirtless, with a billowing red cape covering the scars on his back. Mitsuru wore a black bodysuit not at all unlike Makoto’s, with a white fur coat pulled over it. None of them seemed entirely surprised to find themselves wearing these things, but this wasn’t the time to ask why.

“All right,” Joker said. “Spread out. And remember: if you find Aigis, call everyone else.”

Akihiko, Junpei, Ann, and Morgana went left; Mitsuru, Yukari, Ryuji, and Haru went right; Makoto, Ken, Koromaru, and Yusuke strode forward and turned through an archway a little farther down.

“Forward?” Sumire asked.

“Forward,” Joker confirmed, and they set off down the central path.

It was cold. It was always cold in Mementos, but this was different. It was almost like the Velvet Room, like a pipe had burst somewhere and filled the air with moisture. There were no Shadows, just a preternatural stillness, occasionally punctuated by someone’s voice on the radio. “Path one complete. Nothing here.” “Hey, there’s a treasure chest here!” “Fuuka, can you tell how far down these steps go?”

“Crow,” Sumire asked after a while, as they followed a gentle spiral down, down, down. “Why does Mitsuru-san dislike you so much?”

Akechi grinned, white and gleaming in the dark. “That’s an excellent question. It’s because I lied to her. Or _misled_ her, did she say? Ha. I convinced her to lend some of her operatives to my team so that I could capture the leader of the Phantom Thieves.” He nodded at Joker. “I gave her quite the sob story, you know. She was reluctant to get involved. I practically had to accuse you of eating babies.

“Once she’d consented, I arranged matters so that the people she assigned to the task were under Shido’s control. That way, when they captured _him_ , they would hand him over to Shido’s thugs, who would make sure that everything else went as planned.

“Mitsuru-san does not like being made the fool. I imagine she likes even less that she caused the pain and suffering of a Wild Card like her dear, departed leader. Or, well, that she had a hand in causing it. Strictly speaking, I caused it.”

“Oh,” Sumire said. “That’s…were you friends, before?”

“I don’t—”

“—have friends,” Joker echoed, smirking.

Akechi glared at him. “She was a useful tool in Shido’s arsenal, but always a bit too self-righteous for my taste. I’m astonished she hasn’t gotten in touch with you all before now, honestly. I’d have expected her to relish having a new captive audience for her lectures.”

“Hmm,” Sumire said. “This is a tough one.”

Akechi started to shrug, and Sumire added, “You’ll just have to dial up the charm to win her over!”

“Yeah, Crow,” Joker said, eyes sparkling. “Maybe you could buy her flowers. Think she’d like roses?”

“Ooh, and chocolates!” Sumire said. “Everyone likes chocolates.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Akechi said. “As if I would—”

He stopped. They all stopped. Directly ahead of them, shimmering in the air, was a portal, red on blue on red on blue.

“This is it,” Joker said, and touched his ear. “Futaba?”

A crackle, and then, “Yeah?”

“We found it.”

“You did? Great! Okay. Just a second while I—”

She paused. Joker waited.

“…Futaba?”

“You’re…not on the map anymore.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t find you at all! Where are you?”

Akechi cleared his throat. Joker turned, followed his gaze. The tunnel behind them was gone. In its place was a wall of black marble.

“Weren’t you following the central path?” Futaba demanded. “I know I saw you just a couple of minutes ago! So where—”

Joker’s earpiece hissed, fizzed, emitted a loud _POP_. Flinching, he took it out of his ear and stared at it.

“Oh no,” Sumire whispered.

“Well now,” Akechi said. “This is interesting.”

Shaking his head, Joker put the broken earpiece in his pocket.

“Only one way out now,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Always,” Akechi drawled. Sumire clenched her jaw, nodded.

“All right.” Joker straightened his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ken and akechi are like, the exact same person. even their birthdays are similar. i have a sneaking suspicion that they WERE going to be the same person until the writers were like “oh actually it’s cooler if we put in this really angry kid who wants to kiss the protagonist instead” and thus akechi was born


	4. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Doubt comes in and all falls silent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPM3s_MJ88Y) _
> 
> _[It’s as though you aren’t there](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPM3s_MJ88Y) _

They found themselves standing in…a school hallway, if the classroom numbers above the doors were any indication. But it was huge, monumental: the ceiling rose high above them like a cathedral’s, resting atop towering white walls marked by carven pillars. Gleaming white marble, inset with black diamonds, clattered beneath the feet of dozens of teenagers, all dressed in black uniforms. Their voices echoed, rebounding wildly from floor to ceiling to walls and back again.

Joker looked down at himself, and jumped: he wasn’t Joker anymore. He was Ren. Worse, he was some kind of alternate universe high-school Ren. Instead of sleek leather and billowing trenchcoat, he wore wrinkled black slacks, an untucked white dress shirt, and an unzipped black jacket. Around his neck was a thin black ribbon, tied into a loose and messy bow. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“We’re students,” Akechi said. He was wearing the same uniform as Ren, but his was sharper, cleaner; the jacket was zipped, the sleeves immaculately pressed. He looked…Ren put that thought away, filed it for later, when he could safely examine it in the privacy of his bedroom. Or bathroom. He wasn’t picky.

Akechi caught sight of Ren’s clothes, and sighed. “Do you always have to look so unkempt?”

“Yes,” Ren said, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Ah!” Sumire exclaimed, spinning around. She was wearing the girl’s version of their uniform: a short black jacket over a high-collared white shirt, black skirt, black stockings, and a thick, flamboyantly red ribbon done in an elaborate bow. “I bet this is Gekkoukan High! Aigis-san and Yuki-san went to school here. That must mean…there she is!”

A young woman, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, stood a little ways away from them, just visible through the crowd. The most obviously mechanical parts of Aigis’s body were obscured by a uniform just like Sumire’s, but they all recognized her face, soft and open. As they watched, she laughed, put her head to one side, and smiled at a boy with dark blue hair.

“Look,” said Akechi, nudging Ren. “It’s your twin.”

“We don’t look anything alike.”

“Yuki-san,” Sumire whispered. “Aigis was his ‘closest companion’…do you think they—”

“Regardless,” Akechi said, “she must be made to see the truth.”

Sumire clenched her fists. “Okay. I’ll take point. You two hang back. We don’t want to spook her.”

She stepped forward, straightening her spine, and skidded to a stop when one of the milling students almost ran into her. She clapped her hands to her mouth. “They don’t have any faces!”

She was right. What had, at first glance, looked like people were really nothing of the sort. The fronts of their heads were smooth and featureless, pale skin stretched over a mannequin’s ovoid skull. Their bodies were vaguely humanoid, but their limbs were uncanny, grotesque; their knees didn’t bend when they walked, their arms didn’t move when they spoke. They drifted in random zigzags and diagonals, nearly slamming into walls and each other, always veering away at the last second to avoid a collision. And they made all kinds of noise, but no one in their right mind would call it talking: they were babbling nonsense at no one in particular, occasionally letting out shrill, inhuman cackles.

“It’s awful,” Sumire breathed. “Why would Aigis-san make this? And if she didn’t make it, why would she stay here?”

“Because it’s easier than the alternative,” Akechi said. “Admitting that her dearest friend is dead. You know something about that, don’t you?”

Ren watched a shudder snake up Sumire’s back. She let out a long, unsteady breath. Then, in a flash, she was bright and smiling, waving her hand in the air.

“Aigis-senpai!” she called. “Hello!”

Aigis looked over, startled, as Sumire rushed up to her.

“I finally found you!” Sumire said, beaming.

“I’m so sorry,” Aigis said. “Have we met?”

“I’m Sumire Yoshizawa. I’m a first-year. It’s nice to meet you, finally! I’ve heard a lot about you from Kirijo-senpai.”

Aigis frowned. “From…Mitsuru? How do you know her?”

“We’re old friends. My father used to work for the Kirijo Group.” Sumire peered at the blue-haired boy, who had turned his—yes—flat, empty face toward her. “Hello!”

“Um, Yoshizawa-san, this is Makoto Yuki,” Aigis said. “A friend of mine.”

Goosebumps crawled across Sumire’s neck, but she fixed her smile firmly in place. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Yuki-senpai. Aigis-senpai, could I talk to you in private?”

Overhead, a bell tolled. The students all fell silent at once, pivoted, and began shuffling toward various classrooms.

“Later,” Aigis said. “It’s time for class.”

Sumire caught her sleeve. “Please, it’ll just take a second.”

Aigis stiffened. “I wish you wouldn’t touch me—”

“It’s really important that I talk to you.”

“Later,” Aigis replied. “Makoto-san, let’s—”

But he was gone.

Aigis’s eyes widened.

“Makoto-san?” she cried, pushing past Sumire. “Makoto-san!”

The hallway was empty except for the four of them: Akechi with his arms crossed and lips pursed, Ren with his hips rocked to one side, Sumire reaching out to take Aigis’s hand.

“Aigis,” Sumire said, “he isn’t here.”

“Don’t touch me!” Aigis exclaimed, twisting away. “He was right here! Where did he—”

“He was _never_ here.” Sumire’s voice caught. “You were only imagining him.”

“That’s not true. He was here, I know he was, I—you,” Aigis gasped. “You must have done something to him!”

“No! We didn’t! We want to help Yuki-san just as much as you do. We want—”

Aigis’s uniform split at the seams, fell away as an assortment of _guns and rocket launchers_ burst from her back and shoulders. Sumire recoiled, and her uniform vanished too, replaced by her leotard, her thigh-high boots, her mask.

“Where is he?” Aigis demanded. “Tell me!”

“Well, it was worth a try,” Akechi muttered, as blue flame licked up his legs.

“No Personas,” Joker said, drawing his dagger. “We don’t want to hurt her.”

“Fine, fine…”

“Aigis, please,” Sumire said, “you have to wake up, you have to help us—”

The _BOOM_ when Aigis fired shook the walls. Sumire flung her arms up to shield her face; Joker shot his grappling hook into the ceiling and swung, lightning-fast, to snatch her out of the rocket’s path. She clung to his shoulder, staring past him at the smoking crater as he brought them both back to solid ground at Akechi’s side.

“Thank you,” Sumire panted. “Aigis, please, _please_ stop. We don’t want to fight.”

Aigis whirled, took aim. “Then tell me where he is.”

“You know the answer,” said Joker.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Erebus got to him,” Sumire said. “Aigis. Erebus defeated Elizabeth. It—”

“ _No_!” Aigis screamed, and launched herself at them.

Joker dove one way, Akechi the other, and Sumire dipped gracefully into a backflip to avoid Aigis’s fist, which cracked the marble where it struck. Joker skidded in a semicircle, kicked off, raised his dagger—

“Athena, _Tetrakarn_!” Aigis cried, and Joker’s blade bounced harmlessly off of an invisible barrier. Aigis turned on her heel, swung her fist into his stomach, threw him backward. He bowled over, coughing, and started to get up.

Snarling, Akechi sprang for Aigis next, saber glittering as it sliced through the air. Athena appeared between them, raising her shield to deflect his blow; and then a cut bloomed across Aigis’s cheek, and Athena lashed out with her spear once, twice, three times. Akechi dodged the first two blows but took the third on his shoulder, slamming to the ground with a cry of rage.

Joker, finally finding his feet, touched his mask.

“Odin, _Thunder Reign_.”

The sky ripped open with a terrible crash, and Athena threw her head back and screamed as she was engulfed in lightning. Aigis screamed too, falling to her knees and clutching her head.

“I thought you said no Personas,” Akechi growled. Above him, Hereward snapped into existence. “ _Eigaon_!”

“ _Kougaon_ ,” Sumire cried, and the reddish-black light fused with the white, detonating like a bomb in Athena’s face. The force of the impact threw Aigis into a wall.

“I won’t—lose,” Aigis groaned, dragging herself up. “I won’t.”

The Gatling gun over her left shoulder began spinning, and its multiple barrels flashed like fireworks as it peppered the hallway with bullets. Joker dove low, caught Akechi around the waist, bore him to the ground and pinned him there when he tried to get up too soon. Aigis stopped to reload; Sumire sprinted forward, sprang into the air, landed hard on the gun and drove both it and Aigis to the ground. Aigis’s elbows struck the marble with an unpleasant _crack_.

“Aigis,” Sumire said, “ _listen to me_.”

“Get—” Aigis flung her arms out, blasting Sumire backward with a gust of wind—“ _away_!”

Sumire turned her fall into a handstand, a cartwheel, and landed lightly on her feet.

“You know the truth,” she said. “You _know_ what happened to Elizabeth, what’s probably happened to Yuki-san. You can’t keep hiding from it!”

Akechi, tense and grim at Joker’s side, started to advance, but Joker gripped his elbow. “Hang on.”

Athena materialized behind Sumire, raising her spear; instantly Ella was there, countering with twin slashes. Aigis cried out, clutched her chest.

“Elizabeth said—she’d protect him,” Aigis choked. “She said—”

“She tried,” Sumire said. “But she couldn’t. Erebus was too strong this time.”

Aigis clenched her teeth, shook her head, slashed her hand sideways. Athena copied the motion, her spear whistling through the air, but Ella twirled out of the way and struck her across the back.

Aigis cried out again, slumped forward onto her hands and knees.

Sumire’s shoes clicked gently on the marble as she walked toward Aigis. “You’re hiding,” she said. Her voice trembled. “And I know why. The pain feels too terrible to face. You think you’re too weak to handle it. You’re wrong.”

“No,” Aigis whispered, shaking her head. “He’s not—he can’t be—Elizabeth _said_ —”

Sumire knelt in front of her. “Elizabeth is gone,” she said, touching Aigis’s shoulder. “And so is Yuki-san.”

Aigis looked up, tears sparkling as they spilled down her cheeks. “He—I—”

“You loved him, right?” Sumire smiled at her, bright and brittle. “I know the feeling. But pretending he’s here…clinging to his shadow…it’s not the same, is it? And it’s not what he would want.”

Aigis sobbed, and the world shattered, and fell away.

They were standing on a gnarled, twisted railroad track, lit by reddish light pulsing through veins in the gray walls. Faintly, Joker could hear chains clinking, and beyond that, an engine revving.

“We’re out, it seems,” Akechi said, sheathing his saber.

“ _Aigis_!” Yukari shouted.

Aigis lifted her head. Yukari was leaning through the window of the rapidly approaching Mona-Bus, waving her arms over her head. The Bus’s wheels had barely stopped turning when Yukari sprang out, fell to her knees, and threw her arms around Aigis.

“Where have you been? We were so worried!”

“Yukari,” Aigis breathed. Her face crumpled. “ _Yukari_.”

“It’s okay,” Yukari murmured, clutching her close. “It’s okay, Aigis.”

Aigis pressed her face into Yukari’s shoulder and wept. Fuuka knelt and stroked Aigis’s hair; Mitsuru put her arms around them both; Koromaru rested his head on Aigis’s shoulder. Ken crouched beside them, staring at the floor; Akihiko and Junpei hovered nearby, the former blinking furiously and the latter pulling his hat low.

Sumire wiped her face, sniffling, and blinked when Joker offered her his hand.

“Nice job,” he said.

She smiled and let him help her up.

“I feel awful for them,” Haru murmured, coming up beside Joker.

“Yeah,” Ryuji agreed. “Man, this…it sucks.”

“That’s the best you got?” Morgana demanded. “It _sucks_?”

Futaba pushed up her goggles so she could rub her eyes. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for them. If Joker ever—”

Silence descended, ringing like a gong. The Phantom Thieves looked suddenly haunted, hunted. Even Akechi avoided Joker’s gaze.

“I’m not dead,” Joker pointed out after a moment. “Or dying.”

“Of course you’re not,” Akechi snapped, whipping out his phone. “Let’s get out of here before the Reaper finds us.”

The air shimmered; Mementos faded away. They reappeared in Shibuya Station, the crowd rerouting seamlessly to avoid them.

Mitsuru straightened up.

“I can’t thank you all enough for your help,” she said. “If not for you, we’d never have found her.”

Yukari helped Aigis to her feet.

“I’m so sorry I attacked you,” Aigis said quietly, clasping her hands together. “I didn’t want to admit…”

“It’s all right,” Sumire said. “I know how you felt. Really, I do.”

“Still.” Aigis huffed out a sigh and drew herself up. “Still. Thank you for snapping me out of it.”

“So what now?” Akihiko said.

“We need to find Erebus,” said Yusuke.

“Yeah,” Ken said. “But how do we figure out where—”

Akechi’s snort cut him off.

“Got an idea, Crow?” Ren asked.

“Come on,” Akechi said, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out.”

“Enlighten us, _Detective_ ,” Mitsuru said.

Akechi curled his lip, held up his phone. He’d opened his browser to a headline: ELEVENTH SUICIDE IN TOKYO METRO. IS THIS AN EPIDEMIC?

“Erebus is the physical manifestation of human suffering, yes?” he said. “Of the desire to die? Eleven suicides in one week…that can’t be coincidence. Erebus is in Mementos. Now that we’ve retrieved Aigis, I guarantee that the next time we come here, it’ll make an appearance.”

“That…makes a lot of sense,” Morgana said.

“Definitely worth looking into,” said Ren. “Fuuka, Futaba, can you check for any new, weird signals tomorrow and let us know what you find?”

Futaba nodded. Fuuka said, “Yes, of course.”

“Then let’s break for today. Good job, everyone.”

“C’mon, Aigis,” Yukari said, putting her arm around her. “You can stay with me.”

***

That night, Ren shut his eyes expecting to wake up in the Velvet Room. He wasn’t disappointed.

He was surprised, though, to find himself wearing casual clothes: black blazer over light shirt and dark jeans. He was even more surprised to find both Aigis and Akechi in front of Igor’s desk. Aigis’s eyes were swollen and shadowed; she’d obviously been crying. Lavenza looked like she had been, too, and so did the tall, blue-uniformed man on Igor’s left.

At Ren’s quizzical look, the tall man bowed. “Hello, Trickster. My name is Theodore. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Uh, hi.”

“Tricksters,” said Igor, inclining his head toward Akechi and Ren. “Aigis. Welcome back to the Velvet Room.”

“Well done,” Lavenza told Ren. “You awakened both of the Wild Cards in a matter of days. We knew we could count on you.”

“And you’ve correctly guessed Erebus’s location,” Theodore added. “It does indeed seem to be inside Mementos. Although…”

Lavenza looked curiously at him.

“It gives me a bad feeling,” Theodore admitted. “It seems too…convenient. Too easy. But I couldn’t possibly explain why.”

“How are Narukami-kun and the others doing?” Aigis asked.

“Hanging on,” said Igor, “helped along by Margaret. You still have time. But not much.”

“If we know for sure that Erebus is in Mementos,” said Akechi, “then we shouldn’t wait around. We should strike immediately.”

“I agree,” Aigis said.

Ren nodded. “I’ll text the others. We can meet up tomorrow afternoon.”

“I have no doubt that you’ll be able to defeat Erebus,” Lavenza said. “Your united strength is a force to be reckoned with.”

“But even once Erebus is gone, Nyx will need to be stopped,” Theodore said. “One way or another.”

“Trickster,” Igor said to Ren. “Have you considered what we previously discussed?”

Ren _felt_ , more than saw, Akechi look at him, stinging like a whip.

“Yes, I have,” Ren said.

“And?”

Ren rolled his shoulders, put his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin. “I think we can take her,” he said. “Counting Narukami-san’s team, there’s what, two dozen of us? Not to mention four Wild Cards. Five,” he added, nodding at Aigis, “if Yuki-san is still out there somewhere.”

Aigis’s eyes widened.

“But _if_ we can’t kill Nyx,” Ren said, “then I’ll do what you asked.”

“What did they ask?” Akechi said, dangerously soft.

“If that is your course,” Igor said, “then I wish you good luck.”

“The Seal,” Aigis whispered. Then, louder, “You’re going to try to form another Great Seal. Aren’t you?”

Ren kept his eyes trained on Igor, not because he didn’t want to look at Aigis, but because he could sense Akechi vibrating. “Only if I have to.”

“Excuse me,” Akechi said. “Correct me if I’m wrong. Isn’t creating a Great Seal… _fatal_?”

Lavenza bowed her head.

“Yes,” Theodore said.

“So,” Akechi said, full of venom, “you’re going to _kill yourself_?”

“No,” Ren snapped. “I’m going to fight Nyx, like the rest of you.”

“And if she won’t die, _then_ you’ll kill yourself?”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Let me do it,” Aigis said, pressing her hand to her heart. “I was Makoto-san’s successor. If anyone should become the Seal—”

“Creating the Great Seal requires incredibly strong bonds,” Igor said.

“I have bonds! I have my friends!”

“I’m afraid your bonds pale in comparison to the Trickster’s.”

“And I suppose I haven’t got any bonds at all,” Akechi sneered. “Will the Seal accept hatred? Because I have that in spades.”

“I’m not going to die,” Ren told Aigis. “This is only a last resort. A backup plan. I won’t let it become necessary.”

“Why are you so worried about what _she_ thinks?” Akechi hissed. “Why won’t you speak to _me_?”

Ren bristled, and met his gaze, and the fire blazing there stoked the rage already kindling in Ren’s chest. “Because you’re being ridiculous.”

Akechi’s eyes widened a fraction, gleamed. “Am I?”

“How many times have you told me you don’t care what happens to me?”

“I’ve never said that.”

“Gentlemen,” said Igor. “Our time is up.”

“Right, my mistake,” Ren said. “You said you hated me. Big difference, obviously.”

Akechi bared his teeth. “I do hate you. I hate that you’re a self-righteous, preening _peacock_ with a death wish. I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d be so quick to throw your life away, considering the company you keep.”

“I’m not throwing my life away!”

“ _Gentlemen_ ,” Igor repeated. “Please continue this conversation elsewhere.”

“May luck be on your side,” said Lavenza.

***

Ren woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know they don’t yell their attacks in-game but battles are easier to write that way so


	5. Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** references to violence, blood; explicit sex (enthusiastic consent, handjobs, blowjobs, deep-throating)
> 
> [the sex is bracketed with horizontal lines; please feel free to skip it if it’s not your thing!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Hold me tight as I tell myself that you might make sense](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d31BBuz7ApQ) _
> 
> _[And make good what has been just so bad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d31BBuz7ApQ) _

Ren sat up, rubbing his face, and grimaced when his phone pinged.

[CHATLOG. Goro Akechi to Ren Amamiya, 3:21AM, 3/20/XX]

 _I’m coming over_.

Ren sighed through his nose. Morgana, curled at the foot of the bed, blinked awake.

“What’s up?” he asked, stretching. “Wait! Were you just in the Velvet Room?”

“Mmhm.”

“What did Lavenza say?”

“Tell you later. Akechi’s coming over to beat me up.”

“He—huh? Why?”

“I said something that upset him. Could you stay with Futaba tonight?”

“Uh, sure. If that’s what you want.”

“Thanks.”

Once Morgana had gone, slipping out the window into the night, Ren got dressed. It was something to do, something to fill the time. Something else to do was make coffee, so Ren went downstairs and considered his options. Maybe he’d try a blend tonight…

Ren had barely finished pouring twin cups—he’d opted for a blend after all, but he wasn’t sure about it yet; it might have been bitterer than he wanted—when a series of violent knocks, _bang bang bang_ , rattled the shop door nearly off its hinges. Ren opened it.

“The door didn’t do anything to you,” he said.

Akechi glowered at him. He was more unkempt than Ren had ever seen him, which was saying something, considering they’d tried to beat each other into submission multiple times. His khakis were wrinkled, his white shirt untucked and haphazardly buttoned; his hair was askew. He looked like he’d rolled out of bed, thrown on the nearest outfit, and charged straight over here. Maybe he had.

Akechi shouldered Ren aside and stalked into the café, sneering at the coffee on the counter. “That’s adorable. Did you think this was going to be a civil conversation? One of our friendly banter sessions?”

“Apparently not,” Ren said, shutting the door.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Ren raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. Akechi’s eyes flashed.

“You’re going to _sacrifice yourself_? For what?”

“For the entire world.”

“To hell with the world! Those people don’t give a damn about you. If the situation was reversed—”

“It’s not reversed, and some of them give several damns about me, actually. Anyway, it’s not going to happen. We’ll fight Nyx, we’ll stop her—”

“And if we don’t?” Akechi demanded, clenching and unclenching his fists. “If we fail, you’ll throw yourself on the sword?”

“Yes. If I have to. _If_.”

“Let me do it,” Akechi said. “Let Aigis do it! Let the other one—Narukami—do it!”

Ren shook his head. “It has to be someone with strong bonds. Narukami-san could manage it, but he’s already spent all this time fighting Nyx. I can’t let him kill himself, too.”

“Why not? Who _cares_?”

“I care.”

“I don’t!”

“I know,” Ren said, coldly. “You’ve told me.”

Akechi practically spat at him, paced from one end of the café to the other like a caged lion. “You know that’s not what I mean,” he said, looking everywhere but at Ren. “You know—”

“That you care about me, but you won’t admit it because you’re scared.”

“This is _exactly why_ I didn’t want to get involved with you!” Akechi roared, rounding on him.

Ren narrowed his eyes. “No one forced you.”

“Oh, please. _You_ forced me. You and your merry men, traipsing through Palaces, drawing attention to yourselves. Being reckless. Playing _hero_. Of course I had to stop you. And then you—you—” Akechi gestured at Ren, up and down, as if that explained it. “I tried to tell you that first night, didn’t I? I tried to set limits. But I knew it wouldn’t stick. Nothing does, with you. You latch onto people and worm your way into them—”

Ren coughed a laugh. “Or, I try to help them, and then we become friends.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot, _you’re_ my friend, or so you say. But look around!” Akechi crowed, spreading his arms. “There’s no one else! There’s just you. If you die, that’s it. I’m alone again. You have no idea what that’s like.”

Ren bristled; Raoul billowed upward within him, crying havoc.

“You don’t know a damn thing about my life,” Ren snapped, scything his hand through the air. “I had _nothing_ when I got to Tokyo.”

“But it didn’t take you long to find your place, did it? It was easy for you. It’s always been easy for you.”

“ _This_ isn’t. _You_ aren’t.”

“Well,” Akechi said, “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“I could have saved you, you know,” Ren said. “Last year. First on Shido’s ship, and then in Maruki’s cognition. I could’ve saved you.”

“I didn’t want you to. I told you not to—”

“Yes, you did, and I was respecting your decision, but I also knew—I knew that sacrificing you was the right thing to do. So I did it. I let you _die_. Even though I lo—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Akechi hissed, recoiling as though Ren had cut him.

Ren remembered waking up in the Velvet Room, blinking away the afterimage of Morgana’s searchlight. He’d barely heard Lavenza’s congratulations.

 _What about Akechi_?

 _Everything went back to the way it was_ , Lavenza said. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. _Everything_.

He remembered the nausea cresting in his throat, the darkness lapping at the edges of his vision.

Back in the present, he said doggedly, “Even though I love you.”

Akechi leaned on the countertop and hunched his shoulders, his hair slipping forward to obscure his face as he lowered his head. “Don’t.”

Ren’s instinct was to go to him, to press his fingers against the swath of pale skin on the back of his neck. But he’d promised he wouldn’t touch Akechi again without permission, so he stood there, nails biting into his palms, frustration throbbing like a migraine in his temple.

“I knew better,” Akechi said softly. “I knew that I shouldn’t let myself get close to you. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop it, once it started. You were so…compelling. Why?” Akechi made a noise somewhere between laughing and retching. “Why you? Why me?”

Ren looked at the floor.

“What’s the point, if it always ends in tears?”

Every muscle in Ren’s body was screaming with the effort of staying still. “Akechi,” he said, “ _God_ , would you please let me—”

“I murdered two of your friends’ parents,” Akechi said, head snapping up, eyes glinting red as he turned them on Ren. “I murdered so _many_ people. Including you.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“ _But I wanted it to be_. I was so proud of myself, fooling you. Shutting you up once and for all. The look on your face—the smell of your blood—” Akechi clutched his head. “The sound of your skull hitting the table—”

“Stop.”

“And when I realized you were alive,” Akechi said, bending slowly forward, tucking his elbows tight against his ribs, “all I wanted to do was find you and tear you limb from limb. I nearly did. But even then, the way you looked at me—”

“Akechi, stop.”

“Like you understood, like you saw something I didn’t…it was _infuriating_.” He was shaking, digging his nails into his scalp. “ _I_ don’t even understand myself. How could _you_ —”

Ren jerked forward as if on an invisible chain. “You’ll hurt yourself—”

“ _So what_?” Akechi snarled, straightening up. “Why do you _care_? There’s no excuse for the things I’ve done! I’ve done nothing to earn your forgiveness! So why—”

“I don’t know,” Ren said, helplessly. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. But it’s what I want. You’re what I want.”

All of the rage went out of Akechi, like the death of a massive, ancient star. He suddenly looked small and tired, not a minute older than his nineteen years.

“Why?” he whispered.

Ren held out his hand, palm up.

After a moment, after an eternity, Akechi took his hand. Ren dragged him forward, wrapped his arms around him, cradled the back of his head.

“I forgive you,” Ren said. He could feel Akechi’s heart thumping against his sternum. “I do.”

Akechi drew a trembling breath and clutched at Ren’s back, his knuckles digging into Ren’s spine. Ren redoubled his grip, drawing him closer, so close that he could no longer tell where he ended and Akechi began.

Ren couldn’t have said how long they stood there like that, clinging to each other. But Akechi was, of course, the first to let go, turning his face quickly away as if Ren couldn’t feel the damp patch on his shirt, as if he hadn’t glimpsed the puffiness around Akechi’s eyes.

“I should go,” Akechi said, clearing his throat.

“You should stay.”

“I know I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“You haven’t. Stay.”

Akechi managed to scoff. “And do what? Sleep on your sofa?”

“Whatever you want. Just don’t go.”

Ren could see the gears turning, the steel plates reassembling behind Akechi’s face, closing him off. He hated it.

Akechi cut him a glance. “Are you going to tell your friends about your little backup plan?”

“No,” said Ren automatically, racking his brain for a way to steer the conversation back to where they’d been before, back to the warm solidity of Akechi’s body. “I told you, it’s not going to happen. We’ll kill Nyx. Everything’ll be fine.”

“It had better be.” Akechi flicked a lock of hair out of his face. “They’d _really_ never forgive me if I let you die.”

“They would be your friends too, you know. If you’d let them.”

Akechi shook his head. “I will never understand any of you.”

Ren touched the back of Akechi’s neck, brushed his thumb across the pulse point flickering in his throat. Akechi closed his eyes. Ren could see, in the straight line of his shoulders, how much it cost him not to pull away.

“Why is it,” Ren murmured, “that every time I touch you like—” He trailed his thumb across Akechi’s throat again, watching goosebumps spring up in its wake—“ _this_ , you try to climb out the nearest window?”

“Joker,” Akechi said quietly.

“My name is _Ren_ ,” Ren said. “Or Amamiya-kun, if you’re feeling formal.”

Akechi shivered.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” Ren said, lowering his hand to Akechi’s shoulder. “Do you want me to?”

There was a long pause. Then, “No.”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Akechi snapped, all teeth.

* * *

Ren grasped Akechi’s hips and steered him around so that he was standing against the bar. Akechi braced his hands on the edge of the counter and looked at him, expression cool and calculated.

“Here are the rules,” Ren said, sliding his hands up Akechi’s waist and then back down, watching Akechi’s tongue flick out to wet his lips. “If you want me to stop, just say ‘stop.’ All right?”

“All right.”

“What are you going to say if you want me to stop?”

Akechi rolled his eyes. “Joker—”

Ren withdrew his hands, stepped backward. Akechi raised his eyebrows.

“That’s rule number two,” Ren said. “If you talk, if you make any kind of noise, I’ll slow down. But if you say my name, I’ll go faster.”

“Jo—”

“No.”

Akechi’s pupils dilated. “Ren.”

“Yes.” Ren curled his fingers around Akechi’s throat, came close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Rule number three. You’re not allowed to touch me, or to move. Sound good?”

Akechi licked his lips again, and nodded.

Ren leaned forward, and Akechi opened his mouth even before their lips met, so that their teeth jarred clumsily together. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, the vibration radiating through Ren’s jaw; and when Akechi’s tongue slipped across his own, Ren made a pleased noise, the sort of thing he knew Akechi liked to hear. Sure enough, Akechi started to straighten up, to press against him, and Ren broke the kiss and put his hand on Akechi’s chest.

“Hold still,” he said, in the sort of voice he’d have used in the Metaverse.

Something flickered in Akechi’s eyes, like the fin of a disappearing shark. Slowly, he braced himself against the counter again.

Ren held his gaze for a moment, waiting. When he was sure Akechi would keep still, he got to work.

It had been a year since he’d touched anyone like this, much less Akechi himself. Ren still couldn’t entirely believe he got to do it again: to drag his nails across Akechi’s back, to squeeze his throat, to press kisses all along his jawline. Ren closed his mouth over the divot in Akechi’s clavicle and sucked at his skin as, one by one by one, he undid the buttons on Akechi’s shirt and slipped his hands inside. It was like touching a furnace, alive and supple and muscular. Akechi’s breath hitched as Ren drew his palms across his ribs, around to his back, kneaded his fingertips into Akechi’s spine.

Ren let his mouth drift downward, swirled his tongue around Akechi’s nipple. Akechi hissed between his teeth—not technically a noise, so Ren allowed it—and gusted out a sigh when Ren moved on, first bending, then crouching, then kneeling, glistening saliva marking all the places on Akechi’s chest and stomach where his lips had been.

Through Akechi’s khakis Ren could see exactly what sort of effect he was having on him. Ren glanced up. Akechi was watching him intently, cheeks flushed, lips pressed firmly together. Ren grinned, and put his hand on the stark outline of Akechi’s cock.

It twitched, and Akechi whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut. Ren drew his hand up and down its length slowly, steadily, keeping his eyes trained on Akechi’s face, on his eyelashes fluttering, on the muscle working in his jaw. Ren’s own cock chafed painfully against the inside of his jeans, jumping every time Akechi drew ragged breath, every time he visibly bit back a moan. Akechi’s fingers were white on the edge of the counter.

A damp patch began to form beneath Ren’s fingers, and Ren pressed his tongue to it, drew the fabric into his mouth, tasted the saltiness of precum. Akechi cried out, desperate, visceral. Ren paused.

“Fuck,” Akechi panted. “ _Augh_.”

Ren waited until Akechi had regained control of himself. He dragged his tongue along Akechi’s length, up to the exposed skin of his stomach, to his belly button; this he licked and teased while he painstakingly undid the button and zipper of Akechi’s pants, and drew them down, and drew his boxers down too.

Ren leaned back, curled his fingers around Akechi’s shaft, slick and sticky and hot as a brand. Akechi made a strangled noise—“ _mhh_ ”—and tipped his head backward. Ren worked him with long, languid strokes; the muscles in Akechi’s arms and abdomen flexed, tensed, the tendons in his neck standing out as he tried not to moan, tried not to move.

“Akechi?”

Akechi looked down at him, eyes wild.

“Should I keep going?”

Akechi’s jaw dropped. Ren squeezed him, and Akechi’s hips bucked, and he gasped, “Yes, _fuck_ yes. Ren. _Yes_.”

A fresh bead of precum formed at the tip of Akechi’s cock and slid down its length. Ren licked the trail it left behind, grasped the shaft, closed his lips over the head— _just_ the head, no further, his tongue probing the slit, teasing it. Akechi’s shoes squeaked against the floor as his knees nearly gave out. When Ren glanced up, he saw that Akechi had shut his eyes and bitten down on the heel of his hand.

Ren tightened his lips, still moving his tongue, milking Akechi gently. Precum wasn’t exactly his favorite taste, but it was worth it to hear Akechi groan, “ _Ren_.”

Ren lowered his jaw to bring Akechi further into his mouth. Akechi’s hips jerked, and the head of his cock struck the back of Ren’s throat, making him cough, making drool sputter from the corners of his lips.

That was against the rules. Ren pulled away, wiped his chin. Akechi made a savage noise.

“You can do better than that,” Ren said.

“Fuck off,” Akechi managed.

Ren watched another bead of precum form and trickle downward. “I’m going to have to mop in here when we’re done.”

“Ren for _fuck’s_ sake—”

“I’m just saying, it’s not sanitary.”

Tilting his head, he pressed his mouth to the underside of Akechi’s cock, curling his tongue up and around the shaft. Akechi cried out, but Ren decided to let that go; it was only fair. Besides, he liked hearing Akechi moan. He liked being the one to _make_ him moan. This past year, Ren’s darkest, coldest nights had been the ones in which he woke up damp with sweat (and sometimes other things), Akechi’s gasps ringing in his ears, and realized all over again that he was dead.

Except he wasn’t dead. He was here. Ren bit down, just a hairsbreadth, just enough to squeeze without hurting. Akechi clapped his hand over his mouth, nearly collapsed to the floor, but Ren caught him and bore him up, swiveled his head to take him properly into his mouth again. He dropped his jaw, curved his tongue, willed himself not to choke as he drew Akechi in and in and back and back. His throat convulsed instinctively; Ren breathed out hard through his nose, tried to swallow, couldn’t; Akechi _mewled_ , as if in desperation.

Ren withdrew slowly, letting his teeth and lips drag along Akechi’s length, and then pressed downward again. Once. Twice. Each time, Ren’s throat cooperated a little more, which was a lucky thing, because Akechi had all but lost control, his hips gyrating hungrily, eagerly—

When Akechi came, it took Ren by surprise. He pulled back, too startled to swallow, and spat instead; then he gripped Akechi’s length and stroked him until he stopped spasming, until Ren’s hand and sleeve and even the floor were wet and sticky with cum.

Akechi reached down, tangled his fingers into Ren’s hair, pulled him up so he could kiss him. Fumbling at first, he plunged his hand into Ren’s jeans, into his boxers. Ren’s breath caught in his throat as Akechi jerked his fist, one, two, three; that was all it took; something like pain lanced down Ren’s spine, into his balls, and back up again as he came, gasping into Akechi’s mouth, gasping again when Akechi bit his tongue.

* * *

They stood there, panting, tangled together. Ren caught his breath first.

“Stay the night.”

Akechi hesitated.

“Goro,” Ren said, tipping his chin up, smiling at the look of naked surprise on Akechi’s face. “Stay the _night_.”

“Hmph. Don’t forget, we have a fairly serious fight tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and I might be dead at the end of it.” Ren felt Akechi stiffen, felt his muscles bunch and coil; Ren tightened his grip on him and added, “You’d deny a dying man his last pleasure?”

Akechi relaxed, huffed out a laugh. He purred, directly into Ren’s ear, “You’re not dying.”

“Yeah,” Ren said. “You’re probably right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: all aboard the erebus train. choo choo


	6. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[You're not alone tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0V2cCjf1Tk) _
> 
> _[I'm not alone tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0V2cCjf1Tk) _

The next morning, Ren was surprised to find Akechi still in his bed.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the previous night. (Or, uh, earlier morning.) Rather, he’d expected to wake up alone: for Akechi to rise with the sun (which was only now peeking through the window) and slip away, and refuse to ever speak of this again.

But here he was, stretched out on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms. He was not, it turned out, someone who softened in sleep. He lay completely still, for one thing; Ren had to focus hard to see his shoulderblades rising and falling. And there was a line between his eyebrows, a clench to his jaw, that made him look decidedly uncomfortable. Even his position seemed defensive: he’d left his back exposed, but that was far less vulnerable than his belly, safely tucked beneath him.

Ren wondered, all over again, what had made him like this.

Akechi didn’t stir when Ren sat up, picked up his phone, and switched it on.

Overnight, Yukari had added Aigis to the group chat, and Aigis had written:

 _Hello, everyone. I want to thank you again for rescuing me. I’m sorry it was necessary_.

Ren scrolled past the various reassuring replies, skimming to make sure he hadn’t missed anything important. Then he typed:

_We visited the Velvet Room last night. Akechi’s right. Erebus is in Mementos._

_Can everyone meet at Shibuya Station at 3:00 today?_

Switched the screen off, put it down. This early in the morning, he doubted anyone else would respond for a while.

“Akechi?”

Akechi’s eyes opened, sharp and clear.

“It’s ten minutes to seven,” Ren said. “Sojiro usually gets here around eight. If you want to sneak off, you should probably do it now.”

Akechi stretched, rolled onto his back. “I truly wish you had a shower.”

“The bathhouse is right there.”

“Yes, but regrettably, I can’t walk to the bathhouse naked. I could walk to your bathroom naked, if you had a proper bathroom.”

“I didn’t consider your nakedness when I moved back in,” Ren said wryly.

“That was poor planning on your part.”

Now that he was awake, he looked warm, soft, relaxed. He studied Ren through lidded eyes, his hands clasped loosely on his chest. Ren leaned over, braced his forearms on either side of Akechi’s head, blanketed Akechi’s body with his own. Akechi let him.

“Next place I live, I’ll make sure there’s a shower,” Ren said, toying with a lock of his hair, spread magnificently across the pillow.

Akechi wrinkled his nose. “Your breath smells.”

Ren grinned, and breathed in his face on purpose. Akechi coughed, squawked, shoved his fist against Ren’s cheek to push him away. Laughing, Ren gripped his shoulders, then his wrists, pinned them to the bed, swung his leg over his hips and straddled him to hold him still. Akechi gazed up at him, the picture of serenity, but his lips were parted and his breath came quick.

Ren felt something stir against his thigh, and looked down. “He- _llo_.”

“Hello yourself,” Akechi growled, arching his back, sending a jolt of electricity up Ren’s spine.

Ren kissed him.

There was a brief, busy silence while they resolved each other’s tension. When it was over, Ren dozed with his head tucked into the crook of Akechi’s shoulder, his arm draped across Akechi’s stomach.

When Akechi shifted, Ren braced for him to pull away, for the cold air that would rush in to fill the gap between them. Instead, he felt Akechi’s fingers against his head, light, tentative.

He’d known that Akechi could be gentle, but he wasn’t sure Akechi had.

Akechi stroked his hair, trailed his fingertips through it, pressed them to his scalp. Slowly, Ren relaxed, and leaned into his touch.

“No wonder you and Morgana get along so well,” Akechi said. “You’re practically a cat yourself.”

Ren purred. Akechi snorted.

“So,” he said, “what does all of this mean?”

“Mm?”

“Do you expect things to be…different, after last night?”

“I don’t know. Define ‘different.’”

He could almost hear Akechi roll his eyes. “ _You_ define ‘different.’ You’re the one who’s invested.”

“You’re not?” Ren didn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought this far. I just…wanted you to know how I felt.”

Akechi made a faint sound, low in his throat. They lay like that for a few moments more, Akechi’s fingers still nestled in Ren’s hair.

“Could ‘different’ include more mornings like this?” Akechi asked at last.

Ren looked up at him. Akechi stared at the ceiling, feigning nonchalance, but his shoulders were tense.

“Sure,” Ren said quietly. “Whatever you want.”

Akechi frowned. “What about what you want?”

“I want this. I want you. But I don’t want to force you into it.”

Akechi really did sit up this time. It was exactly as unpleasant as Ren had imagined.

“You want _me_ ,” Akechi muttered, half to himself. “Hm.”

“We don’t have to work it all out right now.”

“Good, because I don’t have an answer for you.”

Akechi stood up and stretched. Ren studied his slender hips, the lean line of his shoulders.

“Pretty good view,” he remarked.

Akechi shot him a look. “I don’t think we should be seen arriving at the station together,” he said, bending to pick up his clothes. “I’d rather the others not know about this. For now.”

“Seems fair.” Ren swung himself out of bed. “You going to the bathhouse on your way home?”

“Yes. I’m sure I smell foul.”

“You smell great,” Ren said, yanking open a dresser drawer. “Here. I’ll lend you something of mine.”

“You don’t have to—” But he caught the shirt and pants Ren tossed him. “Thank you,” he said, lifting his chin, and put them on.

“Want me to walk you over?”

“No, I can find my own way,” Akechi replied, folding his old outfit and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you.”

Akechi left. Distantly, Ren heard the bell ring over the shop door; he peered out the window, watched Akechi stride across the lane and into the bathhouse.

His phone pinged. He picked it up.

[CHATLOG. Goro Akechi to Aigis; Ken Amada; Ren Amamiya; and 12 others… 7:06AM, 3/20/XX]

 _I’ll be there_.

***

“This is gross,” Yukari said.

“ _Really_ gross,” Ann agreed.

They were right, Aigis thought. The Shadow Operatives and Phantom Thieves stood at the mouth of what looked like nothing so much as a _throat_. The walls winding ahead of them were slick and shining, the air oppressively wet, the ground plush and yielding like raw meat, or tongue. Every few seconds, a gust of hot air blew over them, bringing with it the stink of rotten eggs.

“Stick to your teams,” Ren— _Joker_ said. It was hard for Aigis to refer to him by his codename, but it was what he wanted to be called, and she owed it to him to respect that. “Aigis, you’re with us.”

Aigis stepped up beside Akechi. Sumire shot her a smile.

“It’s a straight shot down,” said Futaba. “Erebus should be at the end of the path.”

“Be careful,” Fuuka added. “I don’t see any Shadows, but I can sense them all around us.”

“Everyone ready?” Joker asked.

Everyone nodded—even Junpei, who looked green—and redoubled their grips on various weapons.

“Let’s go,” Joker said.

He took a step—

—and the walls throbbed, and the ground tipped away from them, opening into a yawning abyss, a pit of darkness that they had no choice but to fall into. Several people were screaming; Aigis might have been one of them; someone kicked her shoulder, someone else slammed into her; she bounced off the wall, came away damp and sticky and shuddering with revulsion.

They were falling too fast. At this rate they’d be flattened when they reached the bottom. Aigis flipped wildly through her Personas, looking for something with wings, anything to slow their descent, but she couldn’t—she had nothing—

Joker and Sumire were the only ones who landed on their feet. Aigis landed hard on her knees, fell forward onto her hands, heard something crack. When she sat up, her wrist felt funny.

“ _Salvation_!” Morgana called, and a soothing warmth washed over Aigis.

“Thanks, Morgana,” said Ken, standing up, taking Yukari’s hand to help her.

“Everyone okay?” Joker asked as the others found their feet.

“I sure hope so,” Futaba said, “because we’re in big trouble.”

All around them, lining the flickering walls, were row upon row of shapeless, undulating Shadows. Their mouths gaped hungrily as they oozed across white and black marble, reaching with small, strange hands. Aigis and the others clustered together, back to back to back, summoning Personas, leveling weapons—

A young man materialized out of the throng. He stepped forward, sword in hand, tossing his blue hair out of his eyes.

“Makoto-san,” Aigis gasped.

It was him. It was _really him_ , not a Shadow, not a ghost. Aigis couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t turn her face away even when his eyes raked coldly over her like she was no one. He had never looked at her like that before. Icy dread yawned in her stomach.

“Wh-what is this?” Junpei croaked.

Yuki drew his Evoker. Light from an unseen moon sparked off the metal as he raised it to his temple.

“Fuuka,” Mitsuru said, flourishing her rapier.

“It’s him!” Fuuka said. “It’s really him! But he’s—there’s a darkness—”

“ _Power up_!” Futaba cried, and cherry-scented warmth like a spring wind ruffled Aigis’s hair.

“Queen’s team,” Joker barked over his shoulder, “take the left. Skull, right. Mona, watch our backs. Aigis, Violet, Crow—let’s do this.”

“Orpheus,” said Yuki. Aigis couldn’t help it; she shuddered. “ _Maragion_.”

Flame blasted across the field, missing them narrowly. It was enough. Aigis snapped back to herself, rolled her shoulders, summoned Athena and aimed a Rising Slash at Yuki. He tripped lightly backward, looked up sharply as Joker brought down a blast of lightning; it rebounded off an invisible barrier, struck the wall, scattered rubble across the floor.

“ _Eigaon_ ,” Akechi bellowed.

A dark portal opened beneath Yuki’s feet, but he fired his Evoker, and Thanatos billowed up from within him. The red-black light rebounded, washed harmlessly over Akechi—

Ella, flower petals streaming behind her, caught Thanatos full in the stomach with her blade, and Yuki doubled over, clutching his own abdomen.

“ _Kougaon_!” Sumire said, extending her hand, and brilliantly white light filled the chamber; when it dissipated, Yuki was struggling to rise, blood welling at his lip—

“Metatron!” Joker shouted, splaying his fingers across his mask. Metal glinted, scattering sparks across the walls as an angel materialized above Joker’s head. “ _Kougaon_!”

Another blast of light.

“ _Megidola_!”

Yuki screamed.

Joker vaulted forward. “Yoshitsune— _Hassou Tobi_!”

Blood stained the marble as Yoshitsune manifested, drew his sword, slashed Thanatos’s chest, again, again, again, again—

“Messiah,” Yuki gasped, and a shockwave threw Aigis, Sumire, and Joker backward. This was followed by a crash like thunder, worse than thunder, like the very sky falling down on them; Aigis was on her back, her ribs on fire, her neck twisted and her mouth open, every nerve in every inch of her skin fraying and flaying, her skull splitting

But he’d missed Akechi, who caught him by the throat, lifted him up, slammed him to the ground.

“ _Laevateinn_ ,” Akechi said, and a blast of light struck Yuki in the stomach. Yuki seized, rolled over, vomited. Akechi kicked him hard in the ribs. “ _Eigaon_!”

Yuki shrieked as he was engulfed in darkness. Aigis, pushing herself up with difficulty, said, “Wait—”

But Akechi blasted him again, and again, and again, and Joker seized Aigis around the middle when she flung herself forward, lifting her off the ground, absorbing every blow she rained down on his head in her efforts to get to Yuki, to save him, to stop Akechi because he was out of his mind and he was going to kill him and she couldn’t lose him again she couldn’t she would—

Yuki retched again, black bile, thick and gritty like liquid charcoal, and curled into himself, his shoulders bunching and coiling as though something was moving beneath his skin.

“There it is,” Akechi hissed, backing away.

Smoke began rising from Yuki’s shoulders, dark as the underside of a corpse rotting in the woods. Yuki cried out, softly, and slumped down, unconscious.

“Makoto-san!” Aigis exclaimed, struggling.

“Wait,” Joker said, tightening his grip on her. “ _Wait_.”

“ _Diarahan_ ,” Sumire said, extending her hand toward Akechi, toward Joker, toward Aigis. “ _Diarahan. Diarahan_.”

The smoke was still rising, tying itself in knots, forming a head, two heads, a long, grotesque body, hands instead of feet.

“Erebus,” Aigis said.

Joker set her down. She steadied herself on his shoulder.

“We have to get him away from it,” she said. “I’ll—”

“Fox,” Joker said over his shoulder. “Panther.”

“Ready when you are,” Ann said.

The other Shadows were gone, and Ann and the others clustered behind Aigis, Sumire, Joker, and Akechi. Aigis saw her own longing reflected on Yukari’s face.

“We should be the ones to grab him,” Akihiko said. “He’s our—”

Ryuji clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah, don’t worry about it. We’ve done this before.”

“This thing is nastier than most of the stuff we’ve fought,” Futaba warned. “Don’t underestimate it.”

“Nastier than Maruki?” Akechi asked, adjusting his gauntlets.

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Akechi smiled. “This should be fun.”

Erebus landed hard, making the walls jump and stutter. Bare, exposed ribs were barely visible under the smoke swirling around its midsection; long, narrow limbs jutted out from its body at odd angles, ending in thick-fingered hands spread flat on the ground. It gnashed blocky teeth in twin skulls, one with straight horns and the other with curled ones, like a ram’s. Its eyes cast crimson searchlights over them all, and when it opened its mouth to roar, black mist seeped through its teeth.

Yuki lay perfectly still beneath it, his face calm and composed, as if he were sleeping. Tendrils of smoke wrapped around and over him, caressing his skin.

“Shadow Operatives, you take that side,” Joker said, indicating the curly-horned head. “We’ll take the other one. Fox, Panther—once it’s distracted, get Yuki-san out of there.”

“Got it,” Ann said.

“Of course,” said Yusuke.

And they disappeared. Aigis summoned Athena.

“Let’s go,” she told her friends.

They moved like they’d never stopped fighting, like it hadn’t been years since they’d last acted in tandem. Explosions rang in Aigis’s ears; flashes of light left violet afterimages across her vision as Mitsuru, Junpei, Akihiko, Yukari, Ken, and Koromaru unleashed a barrage of blows that made Erebus bellow with rage and pain. Aigis crouched, sprang, soared past them all to drive Athena’s spear straight into Erebus’s head, through bone, into the soft hollow beyond; Athena twisted, and wrenched her weapon back, and something brackish and dark spilled over Aigis as she landed lightly, stepped aside to let Akihiko get another hit in.

On the other side, the Phantom Thieves were working in unison too, blasting Erebus with great gouts of flame, whistling tornadoes, blue and purple explosions; striking at its throat with white light, yellow light, luminous arcs of energy. Joker snagged one of Erebus’s horns with his grappling hook, swung himself up and around, drove Yoshitsune’s blade into Erebus’s eye, which burst; Erebus shrieked, throwing its head backward as red-black liquid wept from the wound, sizzling where it struck the ground.

That was Ann and Yusuke’s cue. They dodged between Erebus’s flailing hands. Yusuke deftly swung his katana, sheathed it; the tendrils clutching Yuki dissipated, and Ann slung his arm around her shoulder and hoisted him up. Yusuke took his other arm and they sprang, together, out of the line of fire, where they lay Yuki down on the cold floor. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his eyes wouldn’t open no matter what they did.

“Showtime!” Joker bellowed.

None of the Shadow Operatives knew what he meant, but that didn’t seem to matter.

Morgana sprang onto Koromaru’s back and yelled, “ _Charge_!” And dog and extremely weird bipedal cat launched themselves at Erebus, Morgana’s falchion and Koromaru’s knife whistling as they delivered a dozen gleaming slashes to Erebus’s ribs.

The moment they landed, Ryuji clasped Junpei’s hand, slammed their chests together, and they both reared back and swung their weapons. Junpei’s bat connected with an asteroid, Ryuji’s rod with a comet, sending them crackling through the air directly into each of Erebus’s heads.

Makoto Niijima and Akihiko were next. Akihiko hefted a massive folding chair, pirouetted, and slammed it into Erebus’s skull, severing the cartilage of its jaw and knocking several teeth free. Makoto leapt up, locked her arm around Erebus’s other neck, and suplexed it to the ground with a tremendous crash.

“ _All-Out Attack_!” Fuuka and Futaba shouted.

They descended in a blur. It was a miracle, with that many people, that they didn’t wind up hitting each other; it probably helped that Erebus was so big. There was plenty to go around. Aigis unloaded her Gatling gun into the straight-horned head, again and again and again, until it cracked, splintered—

Erebus flung its head back, its unhinged jaw lolling, its ruined eye melting away to reveal an empty socket. It screeched, high and terrible, scrabbling for purchase on the floor. But it couldn’t stand up. Lowering its head, it met Aigis’s gaze with a look of utter loathing.

And then it lay down and died.

Aigis knew it was dead even before its body started disintegrating. She whooshed out a breath, slumped forward, watched the smoke flake away into ash, the bones into dust.

“We did it,” Ken panted. “We did it!”

Makoto Yuki opened his eyes.

He was…cold. This was new, almost foreign, definitely unpleasant. The last thing he remembered feeling was the sun’s heat, and a wrenching pain in his chest. The pain was gone, but so was the sun. He missed it.

His eyes focused, and he blinked. Two very strange people were leaning over him, both wearing…masks? The one in white looked a bit like a fox, and the one in red like some kind of cat. He squinted at them, trying to understand. Were they Shadows? Personas?

“Hey!” said the cat-faced person, grabbing his shoulder. “Hey, welcome back! Can you sit up? Are you okay?”

Yuki huffed out a breath, got his elbows underneath him, levered himself into a sitting position. His fingers were numb, his breath misting in the air. He was sitting on the floor, on marble—in Tartarus? Not quite. It felt different. And there was so much _noise_ : a dozen voices at once, cheering and shouting. He reached for his headphones instinctively, made a soft sound of surprise: they were gone.

“I’m Ann,” said the cat-faced person. They pushed their mask up, revealing a perfectly normal, feminine human face. “This is Yusuke.”

“Nice to meet you,” said the fox, taking off their— _his_ mask too.

“Makoto!”

That voice cut through the fog, electrified his skin.

“Aigis,” Yuki said. It was the first word he’d spoken in eight years, but it came simply, easily; even after a hundred years, a thousand, he would still have known her name.

He stood up, just in time to catch her as she hurtled into his arms, almost knocking him back down. He stumbled, caught himself, caught _her_ , drew her in close and buried his face in her shoulder. She was soft, and so _warm_ ; the sun dawned in his chest, joy sprouting in his heart and blooming into his throat.

Aigis clung to him, sobbing. He drew back, just a fraction, just enough to brush his thumb across her cheek.

“You’re right,” she whispered, beaming at him, touching his hand. “What am I doing?”

Yuki smiled.

“Makoto!” Junpei bellowed, crashing into them, actually picking them both up and spinning them around.

Yuki’s feet had barely touched the ground when Yukari threw her arms around him too; next came Ken, and Fuuka, and Mitsuru and Akihiko, so many people and so much to keep track of that Yuki fell down, laughing, sprawled underneath his friends with his heartstrings singing in his chest. Koromaru leapt onto the pile, barking, wriggled past everyone else to lick Yuki’s face.

The Phantom Thieves watched them. Ann and Makoto wiped their streaming eyes, Ann with her sleeve and Makoto with a handkerchief; Sumire clasped her hands to her chest; Haru and Futaba clutched Morgana between them, who squirmed but didn’t protest. Ryuji, grinning, leaned on Yusuke’s shoulder, and Yusuke squared his fingers to frame the tableau, murmuring to himself.

Ren stood to one side, mask off, hands in his pockets. Akechi shifted beside him.

“This isn’t over, you know,” he muttered. “There’s still Nyx.”

“I know,” Ren said. “But…give them a minute.”

Akechi crossed his arms.

It took longer than a minute for Yuki to resurface, for the Shadow Operatives to let him stand up and brush himself off. He turned to the Phantom Thieves, met each of their gazes, nodded.

“You’re welcome,” Ren said.

Something tectonic shifted beneath their feet, making the walls tremble. Everyone gasped; Yuki’s eyebrows knitted.

“I told you,” Akechi growled.

At that moment, seven people—well, six people, and one weird, colorful bear—fell out of the sky. They landed in a tangle, one on top of the other, and there was quite a bit of confusion as they tried to right themselves.

“Oww,” a woman with pink hair grumbled, sitting up, rubbing her back.

“Is that— _Risette_?” Ann squeaked.

“Rise,” Aigis said. “Yukiko! Everyone!”

“Aigis?” said Yukiko, blinking at her. Then, to Yuki, “Ah! And you must be—”

“You okay?” Akihiko asked, helping Kanji to his feet.

“Yeah, I guess. But what the hell happened? We were—”

“Wait,” Naoto said, looking around. “Where’s—”

“ _Yu_!” Yosuke shouted. He leapt up, spun around, frantic. “Are you here? Yu!”

Rise touched her viewscreen, gasped. “He’s still—”

An ornate, shining clock face opened beneath Joker’s feet, black hands spinning and spinning and spinning before finally settling on midnight. A gong sounded, rattling everyone’s teeth, and the moon appeared beneath Yuki, casting him in green.

“We’re out of time,” Ren said. Then, to Yuki: “Can you get us to Nyx?”

Yuki nodded and gripped Ren’s hand.

“Wait,” Aigis said. “Wait!”

They vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean...you knew Yuki wasn't dead, right?


	7. It's Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence, gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[And though I’ll think about him till the earth draws in around me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zA4ebf4HvCk) _
> 
> _[And though I choose to leave him for another kind of love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zA4ebf4HvCk) _
> 
> _[This is no denial, no betrayal, but redemption](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zA4ebf4HvCk) _

Yu Narukami was having a pretty bad time.

He was alone, which was his least favorite thing to be. Nyx had thrown his friends and Margaret (also his friend, technically) out of this dimension, and without them he was rapidly approaching useless. He was exhausted, his mental stamina completely depleted, his physical stamina getting there: for every strike he dodged, he took two more. He didn’t dare summon any of his Personas, much less Izanagi-no-Okami; one good Physical skill might knock him out.

Speaking of getting knocked out—

Yu skipped sideways as a massive, branching column of ice burst through the ground. But the follow-up, a bolt of lightning, struck him full in the chest; he saw white, then black; he went _numb_ , mercifully numb, except that when his vision returned he found himself on his hands and knees, unable to move, trembling like a sail in a windstorm.

Nyx loomed over him, blue-black wings flapping, white face cast in silhouette by the massive moon behind her. She was grinning, her mouth a yawning void, opening wider, wider as she drew back her arm, raised her blade—

Two things happened at once. First, a white blur flashed past Yu and blocked the sword as it descended, scattering sparks. Second, warmth spread through Yu’s veins, healing his wounds and helping him to his feet.

“Here,” a deep, masculine voice said, pushing a thermos into his hand. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Yu sniffed it. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” said the black-haired kid beside him. “Trust me.”

Yu knocked back a swig. It was…good. Earthy. It scalded his throat, pooled in his stomach; its heat suffused his skin.

“Better?” the kid asked, taking the thermos back.

“Much,” Yu replied. “Hi. I’m Yu Narukami.”

“Ren Amamiya,” said the kid, offering a red-gloved hand. Yu shook it. “And that’s Makoto Yuki.”

Yu looked at the blue-haired boy standing on his other side. “Oh, hello. I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Yuki said, gazing up at Nyx. “Messiah.”

The white blur Yu had seen before resolved itself into a metallic, humanoid figure, swathed in pale fabric and suspended on a sword like a cross. Its eyes glinted scarlet as it zipped back to them and took up position at Yuki’s shoulder.

“So,” said Amamiya, touching his forehead. A white domino mask appeared beneath his fingers. “Any advice, Yuki-san?”

“Um,” Yuki said. “She’s really strong, and she sucks.”

“Sounds about right,” Yu muttered.

“Satanael,” Amamiya said.

A bright blue light, like a bursting star, bloomed at his back, and when it faded it revealed a looming, broad-shouldered figure in dark armor. It was almost the opposite of Yuki’s Persona, gunmetal gray and black where Messiah was silver and white; it had twin sets of massive horns, one silver and one gold, and a red sash across its chest. More notable than that were its six, _six_ , wings, half batlike and half feathered.

Looking at them both, at his fellow Wild Cards and their opposing selves, Yu understood.

“Fusion,” he said.

“What?” said Amamiya. Yuki tilted his head.

“Izanagi-no-Okami,” Yu cried, and his ultimate Persona materialized behind him, white and red robes swirling at its hips as it came to rest above his head.

At the same moment, three glyphs sparkled to life beneath their feet: circles overlapping upon circles, seven, seven, and seven, linked together by lines, wires, and chains. Yu straightened up, looked at Amamiya and Yuki, saw his own resolve glowing in their eyes.

“Come forth,” Yu said, clenching his fist, shattering an Arcana card. “---!”

What was its name?

He’d been about to say it. It was on the tip of his tongue…

It didn’t seem to matter. Satanael, Izanagi-no-Okami, and Messiah disappeared. In their place, descending gently from the green sky to land between the Wild Cards and Nyx, was a door. It was tall, narrow, built entirely of rugged gray stone, damp as though fresh from a riverbed. Moss—or was it algae?—grew across its rough surface, crawling with pale, tiny insects, like mites.

Nyx drew herself up, raised her sword.

The door opened. Through it, the Wild Cards could see only Nyx, and the moon and clouds beyond her. But Nyx recoiled like she’d glimpsed something terrible, wrapping her wings around her body as if to shield herself. And no wonder: an instant later, she was engulfed in harsh, blinding light, so bright that the sky turned blue, that the moon blazed hot like the sun—

Nyx screamed as flame spread across her limbs, burned her feathers, climbed her torso and throat; her mask warped, cracked, fell away into nothing. She twisted her head back, her shriek rising in pitch and pain, the fire lighting her from within like a hot coal—

And she was gone. A few embers drifted to the ground, burned themselves out.

“That’s it,” Ren said. “It’s over.”

No one answered. Ren looked around. No one was there.

Uh-oh, he thought, drawing his dagger.

The door was still open. Something inside of it fluttered, swift and jerky, like a dying moth, like a butterfly pinned in a spider’s web. The hair on the back of Ren’s neck rose. He widened his stance, curved his shoulders forward.

He expected whatever-it-was to crawl slowly toward him for, as Futaba would have put it, maximum creep factor. Instead, a trio of smoky tendrils shot out, closed tight around his arms and waist, and dragged him through the doorway.

When Ren next opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness. Not _in_ darkness; he was wreathed in a pale, predawn light, just enough to see his own body, still dressed as Joker. But in every other direction except down, he saw nothing but void.

He shifted, bristled at the clink of iron, the cold chafe of metal. _He was chained to the floor_. He flicked his dagger into his palm and sliced through the manacles binding his wrists and ankles. They shattered, hit the ground, flickered from existence like the picture on a badly tuned old TV.

“Well done,” said a masculine voice behind him. Ren whipped around.

Looming over him, some twenty feet off the ground, was a single enormous eye. Its whites were perfectly white, like something out of a cartoon; its pupil was a deep, dark bluish black, like a starless sky at night; and its iris was crimson, brighter than blood. As Ren watched, the eye’s corners curved upward, as if it was smiling. Ice trickled down the back of Ren’s neck.

“Greetings, Trickster,” said the eye. Its voice was deep, thunderous, pulsing in Ren’s sternum. “Or should I call you Joker?”

Ren swallowed sand. “Trickster’s fine.”

Laughter echoed in his ears.

“My name is Nyarlathotep,” the eye said. “I’ve been watching you.”

 _You and everybody else_ , Ren didn’t say.

“I wish to thank you for setting me free,” Nyarlathotep continued. “I’m sorry I had to trick you into doing it. You see, trapped in this place, there was no way for me to communicate with humans like yourself except through emissaries. And, unfortunately, every messenger I sent forgot their purpose, or chose not to pursue it.”

Ren clenched his fists.

“Their mission was, of course, to identify my champion. The one who would assume my power and represent me in the mortal realm. Someone with conviction. A disdain for authority. A strong sense of _justice_.” The way he said it, slick and oily, made Ren’s scalp itch. “I’ll admit, Trickster, that I did not initially appreciate your potential. It wasn’t until you destroyed Suguru Kamoshida that I saw you for what you were.”

A pool of blackness opened under Ren’s feet. Tiny, shadowy hands snaked up out of it, coiling around his boots, tugging on his trousers. Ren tripped backward, kicking them away.

“Swear fealty to me,” Nyarlathotep said. The hands extended toward Ren again, fingers clutching. “Give me your soul, and I will give you the power to remake the world.”

Ren slashed the reaching fingers. They recoiled, squealing. Nyarlathotep’s pupil compressed into a catlike slit.

“Not interested,” Ren said.

HOW DARE YOU?

The words were like a physical blow, like a howling wind: Ren staggered, gritted his teeth, barely managed to stay upright.

YOU INVADE THE MINDS OF OTHERS, Nyarlathotep boomed, descending until he filled Ren’s vision, until all Ren could see was the bright red iris striped with black. YOU SHAPE THEM IN YOUR IMAGE. YOU EVEN USE MY MONIKER. _JOKER_. AND YET YOU DEFY ME?

“We are _nothing_ alike,” Ren said, forcing his spine to straighten.

All at once, it stopped. Nyarlathotep withdrew.

“Then what about you?” Nyarlathotep said. “Goro Akechi?”

Ren stiffened, turned. Akechi stepped out of the darkness. His expression was mild, even curious, but he carried himself like a prowling leopard.

“I’ve been tracking your progress for more than a decade,” Nyarlathotep purred. “I recognized your power the moment you awakened to Robin Hood. I gave you Loki, as a gift.”

Akechi’s breath caught, a faint hiss.

“And I arranged for you to learn your father’s identity, so you might exact your revenge.” The shadowy hands were back, winding themselves around and around Akechi’s ankles. “Now finally, _finally_ , it’s time for you to fulfill your true destiny. To don my mantle, after so many years of preparation. Join me.”

Akechi scoffed.

“If you’ve watched me all this time,” he said, curling his lip, “then you know I’m no one’s puppet. I will not be manipulated by anyone, much less the likes of you.”

Nyarlathotep’s eye curved again, and this time he really did smile, white fangs glinting in the air.

“I expected nothing less,” he said. “You are right, of course. You’re not the sort to submit.”

Slowly, Nyarlathotep pivoted toward Ren.

“Do you know what else you were right about, Goro Akechi?” he asked, low and silky, his eye raking up and down Ren’s body. “Loving people makes you weak.”

It took a second for the penny to drop. When it did, Ren rounded on Akechi, whose face was ashen.

“Akechi,” Ren said. “We can take him.”

Nyarlathotep laughed. “ _Take_ me? You think you can kill me?”

“How many times have I beaten you?” Ren demanded. Akechi glanced at him, hollow, resigned. “If you can’t kill me, what makes you think he can?”

“I am a god,” said Nyarlathotep.

“I’ve killed gods before,” Ren snapped.

YALDABAOTH? Nyarlathotep bellowed. Ren stumbled, clutched his head. AZATHOTH? WHAT WERE THEY, COMPARED TO ME? NOTHING. I MADE THEM, AND WHEN THEY DEFIED ME, I UNMADE THEM.

“We can stop him!” Ren shouted. “You and me!”

YOU HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING ALONE, TRICKSTER. EVERYTHING YOU’VE ACCOMPLISHED, YOU’VE ACCOMPLISHED ON THE BACKS OF OTHERS. YOU THINK YOU CAN FACE ME BY YOURSELF? YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME WITHOUT PHILEMON’S ASSISTANT AND HIS PET CAT?

“I’m not alone!” Ren roared, blue fire crackling around him, spiraling upward from his heels. “Akechi! _We can do this_. Come on!”

“You truly think so?” Nyarlathotep sneered, withdrawing again. “Let’s review the outcomes, shall we?”

Akechi stood rooted to the spot, held fast by the groping, clawing hands. Ren brandished his dagger, sprang forward—

—and a thick, sharp, solid tendril, like a spear, whistled out of the darkness and caught him full in the chest. It sliced through him, easy as a scalpel through skin, and slammed into the ground, pinning him there. Ren jerked like a beetle on a board—

—and then he was leaping again, this time summoning Yoshitsune, levying a _Hassou Tobi_ at the gigantic red eye. But something emerged from the ground, snagged his shin, dragged him down. It was a tentacle, thick, ropy, glistening; and presently more joined it, three, six, a dozen. They curled around Ren’s legs, his waist, his throat; they twisted his head backward, crawled into his mouth, and Akechi heard the snap and crack as they filled his chest and broke his ribs—

“Akechi,” said Ren, grabbing his arm. “What is he showing you?”

Akechi’s muscles flexed in familiar patterns as he spun smoothly around and drove his saber into Ren’s stomach. Ren’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, coughed; blood spilled over his chin, down his neck, soaked his waistcoat. Akechi stifled a scream, backed away. Ren dropped to his knees, staring and staring, slick hands fumbling at the blade—

And then Ren was shaking him, whole and alive. “It’s not real! _It’s not real_. He’s trying to trick you. And if he’s doing that, then he must know we can win! We—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Akechi snarled, knocking Ren’s hand away. “Stop.”

Ren stopped. Akechi stood there, shoulders heaving, fists clenched.

“What’ll it be, Goro Akechi?” Nyarlathotep asked.

Akechi lifted his head, and smiled. His eyes shone like steaming entrails, like freshly spilled blood. Anyone else—the Shadow Operatives, the Phantom Thieves, even Sumire, who generally thought the best of him—would have believed he’d given in.

But Ren knew him. He was the only one who ever had.

“Akechi,” Ren croaked, half angry, half desperate. “Don’t.”

“It’s a pretty offer,” Akechi said, stepping forward, spreading his hands. “I’d be willing to talk terms.”

“Don’t _do_ this, not again, we can—”

“I assure you,” Nyarlathotep said, “the contract is very fair.”

Ren lunged at Akechi, reaching for his wrist, but one of Nyarlathotep’s tentacles whipped around and struck him in the throat. He fell to one knee, clutching his neck, coughing.

“I do have one condition,” Akechi said.

“Name it.”

Akechi pointed at Ren. “He leaves here alive, and in possession of all his faculties, physical and mental. You agree to that, and we can discuss our options.”

“No,” Ren rasped. “ _No_.”

“Fine,” Nyarlathotep replied.

And there was a sound like someone snapping their fingers. Wind whipped and whistled through the dark, biting into the marrow of Ren’s bones. The last thing he saw was the lean line of Akechi’s shoulders, pulled taut with the effort of not looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops I got my persona 2 in your persona 5. ~two great flavors that taste great together~
> 
> (seriously, why are there so many parallels. it has to be intentional, right?)


	8. I Hate You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[And I swore that I'd love without wanting or needing you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yx6d2jNTfns) _
> 
> _[But it's too late: I need you too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yx6d2jNTfns) _

“Ren?”

“ _Ren_!”

“Is he okay? Can he hear us?”

“Joker!”

Ren felt fingers probing his throat, pressing against his pulse point. They were too smooth to be skin, but too warm to be metal.

“He’s alive,” said Aigis. “Joker?”

Ren opened his eyes.

He lay on his back, his shoulders digging into the railroad tracks beneath him. It took a moment for his vision to focus: on Aigis’s face hovering over him, and Yuki’s just beyond hers, and Narukami’s upside down alongside them both.

Aigis smiled. “Thank goodness.”

“ _Ren_!” Ryuji shouted, and Yuki and Aigis stepped back so the Phantom Thieves could rush in.

“What happened?” Makoto demanded.

“When you didn’t come back,” Haru said shakily, “we thought—”

“Ren,” Sumire said, touching his arm. She was pale, her pupils pinpricks. “Akechi’s gone.”

Ren’s stomach heaved. He managed to push himself up, over, balancing on quaking elbows, and vomited black bile. It burned like tar, left grit like blackberry seeds between his teeth.

There was a general outcry, two dozen voices rising in horrified chorus.

“I have to,” Ren gasped, trying to stand up, groaning when his knees gave out.

“Whoa, whoa,” Morgana said, flailing at him. “Don’t move, okay? You’re—”

“You look awful,” Sumire said, taking off her glove so she could press her hand to his forehead. Ren shuddered; he felt clammy, cold, hot, all at once. “What happened? Where’s Akechi? Was he with you?”

“Nyarlathotep,” Ren said, the name sliding off his tongue like oil.

Silence.

“Why do I know that name?” Narukami muttered, frowning.

“I do too,” said Yuki, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“ _I_ don’t,” said Ann, looking around at the others. They stared back at her, equally clueless, even Morgana; he looked worried about it.

“He—took him,” Ren rasped, swallowing another surge of nausea. “Akechi. Akechi—went with—”

Yusuke shook his head. “What do you mean, he—”

“Help me up,” Ren told Sumire.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“There’s no _time_ , I have to find him, I have to—”

“Dude,” Ryuji said, “you’re not makin’ any sense. This…Nee-yar…this guy, he _took_ Akechi?”

“Yes,” Ren snapped, trying to rise and failing.

“He can…do that?”

“Akechi went with him. He was trying to protect me.” Ren spat liquid ash, thick and dark. “ _Stupid_.”

“But who _is_ he?” Futaba asked.

“I can answer that,” said a low, feminine voice.

“Margaret,” said Narukami, turning.

She was clearly one of Igor’s assistants: dark blue uniform, golden eyes, curly white hair. She was also older than Lavenza, or at least presented herself as such. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Narukami.

“Narukami-kun,” she said. “Yuki-san. Amamiya-san. Well done. You’ve accomplished something extraordinary. You’ve destroyed Nyx.”

Margaret shifted her weight, traded her Compendium from one hand to the other.

“But I’m afraid my congratulations must be tempered with sorrow. We played directly into Nyarlathotep’s hands. We had no choice, of course; Nyx had to be stopped. But now that he is free…”

Rage snapped like a whip in Ren’s gut. He pushed himself up, stumbled sideways, caught his balance despite the floor rolling beneath him.

“You know him?” he demanded. “Igor knows him? Why didn’t you tell us—”

“He’s been…out of the picture,” said Margaret carefully, “for quite a while. We had no reason to think he was behind any of this. In retrospect, it seems obvious, but…”

“But who is he?” asked Chie, stepping forward. “A demon? A god?”

“Both, and neither. Aigis-san,” Margaret said, “Yuki-san, Narukami-kun, if you would kindly follow me.”

She gestured, and the door to the Velvet Room appeared beside her.

“My master will explain everything. The rest of you,” she added, “may return home. Your leaders will fill you in once they’ve spoken with my master.”

A small, cool, dry hand slipped into Ren’s. He spun around, starting to pull away, and stopped when he saw Lavenza’s upturned face.

“You should go home too, Trickster,” she said. “You need to recover.”

Ren tugged his fingers from her grasp. “I’m fine.”

“Uh,” Ann said, “you are not? You should see yourself. You’re all pale—”

“I don’t _care_. I can’t leave him there. I won’t abandon him—”

“Ren,” Sumire said softly.

“You’ll be no help to him in your current condition,” Lavenza snapped, with some of Caroline’s old steel. “You have to regain your strength.”

Why couldn’t they understand? Why couldn’t they see? And why were they all still looking at him like that, like he was broken, addled, pitiable?

Ren was grateful for his friends, he loved them, he would die for them, but he didn’t have time to argue about this. He certainly didn’t have the energy to convince them that Akechi was worth saving. He had to—

Ryuji’s hand landed on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “We know you and he, uh…we know you’ve got a thing going.”

The fury drained away. Ren gaped at him.

“We’ve known for a while,” Futaba put in. “Personally, I figured something was going on in Maruki’s Palace.”

“Yeah,” Makoto said, clasping her hands behind her back. “It’s actually kind of, um, funny? You play everything else so close to the chest, but…not this.”

“It’s a beautiful thing, your faith in him,” Yusuke said. “Truly inspiring. You care for him so ferociously.”

“We might not love him, like you do,” Haru added, taking off her mask so he could see her face, open and earnest, “but we don’t want him to suffer.”

“No way we’re leaving him in Nyarlathotep’s hands,” Morgana agreed, nodding firmly. “But Lavenza’s right. You’ve gotta take some time to heal. If you go now, there’s no way you’ll win.”

 _I’d rather the others not know about this_ , Akechi had said. _For now_.

So stupid.

Ren drew a breath like needles in his lungs, knives in his throat. Sumire clutched her hands to her chest.

“Oh _Ren_ ,” she breathed, visibly heartbroken. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get him back. I promise.”

“Count on it,” Ann said, clenching her fist.

Lavenza said, “I’ll tell your teammates everything they need to know about Nyarlathotep. And once you’re well, we’ll save Goro Akechi.”

Ren swayed, pressed his fingertips to his forehead. Rationally, reasonably, he knew they were right. He couldn’t face Nyarlathotep like this; he could barely stand, much less summon a Persona or swing a knife. He needed to go home, get some sleep. And then—

Something glittered at the edge of his vision. Lavenza’s headband. Lavenza herself was still talking, turning to the other Thieves, but Ren couldn’t hear her anymore.

Nestled in her hair, shimmering in Mementos’ omnipresent red light, were twin silver butterfly wings perched on perfect golden flowers. Familiar flowers. Flowers Ren had encountered hundreds, thousands of times, dutifully collected, traded in exchange for Somas, Stamina Kits, incense—

All the pieces fell into place at once, a cascade of dominoes.

“I need to talk to Jose,” Ren said.

Lavenza blinked at him. “I…will try to arrange a meeting,” she said.

“Thank you. It’s important.”

“I’ll do my best.” Lavenza took his hand again. “Now. _Rest_.”

Ren staggered, tipped sideways. Sumire and Yusuke caught him as he fell asleep.

***

It was much, much later when he woke up.

He wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t even in his room. He lay on a not-entirely-unfamiliar mattress, staring up at a wholly unfamiliar ceiling. A window near the foot of the bed cast grey moonlight across mountains of boxes, trash bags, and storage containers, crammed in so close that Ren suspected they’d originally filled the room completely. Peering into the gloom, he could just make out a path, haphazardly carved, through the mess. He was in someone’s spare bedroom-turned-storage room. Specifically, if the bed was any indication, Sojiro’s.

“Hey! Good job.”

Ren sat up sharply. Jose, yellow eyes glowing in the darkness, waved at him from atop a stack of boxes.

“I heard you wanted to talk to me?” he said.

Ren glared at him, clenching his fists in the sheets. “Philemon,” he said. “I know it’s you.”

Jose beamed. “You got me!” he said. “How did you figure it out?”

“The flowers,” Ren replied. “You drank them. Butterflies drink nectar.”

“And butterflies are my symbol!” Jose clapped his hands. “Very good!”

“Why do you look like that? Shouldn’t you be—I don’t know. Dapper? Handsome?”

“Mm-mm.” Jose shook his head. “I’m not…exactly him, yet. I’m trying to get there, but I’ve got a long way to go. You’ve helped, though, with the flowers. And I understand humans tons better than I used to.”

“When I asked you who your master was, you said _he_ —”

“I know it’s confusing. I’m sorry. I’m him, and he’s me. But he’s also him, and I’m also me. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Ren growled, swinging his feet to the floor, hoping the shock of cold would calm him down. It didn’t. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

Jose tilted his head. “Are you mad at me?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired of being used,” Ren retorted. He hurt all over, mostly with the effort of restraining himself, of _not_ leaping off the bed to clock a god that looked like a little kid. “I’m sick of everyone treating me like a tool. Did you plan this? You and Nyarlathotep? Are Akechi and I your pawns in some cosmic chess game?”

“Oh, no,” Jose said. “I mean, if this was chess, you’d be a queen at least. But—”

“Then why?” Ren asked, leaning forward. “Why him? Why me? Why us? Why is it always us?”

“I wasn’t using you,” Jose said. “I promise. I’m not allowed to do that. Technically Nyarlathotep isn’t allowed to either, but…he’s the god of chaos. He gets to break the rules.”

“What’s the point of having rules if he can break them?”

Jose giggled. “You know, he asked me that once, too. I don’t know. But there are rules, just the same. I can’t interfere directly in humans’ lives. I can make allies for them, like Igor—”

“Emissaries,” Ren muttered, bitterly.

“—but Igor can’t just tell people what to do. They have to make choices. They have to be allowed to say yes, and no. Like you did.”

Ren hunched his shoulders. “I thought I was making choices. But if Nyarlathotep’s been controlling everything, all this time…”

“I don’t think he has.”

“He said he created Yaldabaoth. And Azathoth, Maruki’s Persona.”

“Sure. Like I created Igor. But he couldn’t control them; they had choices, and they made them. Goro Akechi had a choice too.”

Ren’s head snapped up, eyes blazing, hair flaring back from his face. Jose brightened.

“There you are!” he said cheerfully. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Trickster, all tied up in knots.”

He hopped lightly down to the floor.

“It’s not chess,” he said. “You’re not my pawn, or my queen. But you’d make a pretty good champion. You know why?”

Ren looked at him.

“Because you can break the rules, too.”

“Ren,” said Akechi.

Ren was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. “Akechi,” he gasped, stumbling forward.

Akechi held up a hand. “You shouldn’t touch me,” he said. “He’ll know.”

Ren goggled at him, turned back to Jose—but Jose was gone. “How are you here?”

Akechi smirked. “I’m not, really. This is a cognitive space. I managed to bring you in here with me.”

“Are you okay?” Ren asked, studying him. He was wearing his trademark outfit: a tan peacoat over a white shirt; black pants; black shoes and leather gloves. Ren couldn’t see any obvious injuries, and he didn’t seem to be in pain, but— “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Akechi eyed Ren, clearly assessing his condition too. “Are you?”

“No.” Ren’s heart clenched. “Yes. Akechi, where are you?”

A shadow flitted across Akechi’s face. “The Metaverse,” he said, “with _him_. He exerts some kind of control over it, like Maruki did. He doesn’t realize that I’ve stolen a piece of it from him. For now.”

“So make yourself a door. Walk out.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Why did you _do_ this?” Ren exploded, flinging his hands in the air. “We could’ve taken him! I told you! Why did you have to—”

Akechi’s eyes narrowed. “I saved you.”

“I don’t need you to save me! I’ve never needed you to save me!”

“After all this time,” Akechi said, silk and lace, “I shouldn’t be surprised by your total disregard for your own well-being. But here we are. If we’d fought him, we would have died. _You_ would have died. And you are far, far more valuable than I am.”

“ _Valuable_ —that’s not true! I’m not—”

“It is; you are; objectively, _you are_ ,” Akechi hissed. “You have allies. You can rally them to you with a glance.”

Ren opened his mouth to reply, but Akechi cut him off.

“You hurt his pride when you rejected him, you know. And now he’s underestimated you, just like everyone else. He let you walk free. A critical mistake.”

Understanding dawned. Ren stood up straight.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said.

“I’m counting on it," Akechi replied.

Then Akechi stiffened, cocked his head. He looked…maybe it was just the way the moonlight played across his face, but he looked…afraid.

“He’s coming,” he said. “You should go.”

There was one more thing Ren needed to say, that Akechi needed to hear in case—in case—

“Akechi,” Ren said, “I—”

“I know,” Akechi said. Then, so quietly that Ren almost wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen his lips move: “Me, too.”

Ren went cold, then hot, and reached out, danger be damned, Nyarlathotep be _damned_ —

—and woke up, his hand extended toward the ceiling in a darkened, cluttered room. He stared, closed his fingers slowly into a fist, lowered his arm. His throat felt raw, his face chapped, as if he’d been crying; and with a start he realized he still was. Ren rolled over, dislodging Morgana, who recovered himself with his usual feline grace and watched in dismay as Ren buried his face in the pillow and wept. In this, as in so much else, he was silent, but the sobs wracked his shoulders.

“Aw, Ren,” Morgana said, draping himself across Ren’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t sleep at all that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how does ren know who philemon is? …that’s not important.


	9. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[Someone by my side, turned his face to mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2iTZXSJCzw) _
> 
> _[And then I turned away, into the shade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2iTZXSJCzw) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw:** references to sexual harassment, assault, and rape; suicide; blood, violence, gore

Akechi wasn’t sure how long he waited for Nyarlathotep to come for him. He floated, weightless, in a gray void, like the dense morning fog on a cold lake. At least he wasn’t completely deprived of sensation: his skin prickled in the chill, and a rough wind occasionally swept past to ruffle his hair.

He did _not_ think about Ren. He had plenty of practice doing this, so it came easy enough, even though it was all he wanted to do. But then, he had plenty of practice depriving himself of the things he wanted, too.

Instead, Akechi thought about his situation. He’d managed to shape the space around him only once, to manifest Sojiro Sakura’s spare room, and Ren inside of it, pale and miserable. ( _No_.) Now, he couldn’t seem to summon anything. No matter what he pictured—Leblanc, his apartment, a café, a solitary chair—the fog refused to part. Why had it worked before? Was it because of Ren? Hah. Probably. Probably Ren was some kind of cognitive lightning rod, and if Akechi wanted to see him, all he had to do was ask.

But he didn’t dare. He wouldn’t lead Nyarlathotep to Ren. He certainly wouldn’t make his, ugh, _feelings_ even more obvious than they already were. Nyarlathotep knew he could use Ren as bait, as bargain; Akechi couldn’t cede any more ground on that front.

Something shifted. Akechi felt a tug on his navel, and sank slowly downward until his feet connected with solid ground. He stumbled; he’d almost forgotten how to stand up.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Nyarlathotep’s voice.

A man materialized in front of Akechi. He was tall, towering, with broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist and even slimmer hips and legs. His hair was dark, shiny, slick; his skin a strange inhuman color, almost beige; and his eyes a bright, bright, bright red, brighter even than Makoto Niijima’s. He wore a finely-tailored burgundy suit, and when he smiled, Akechi saw that his incisors were fang-sharp.

“I thought this appearance might be more appealing,” the man said, smoothing his jacket. “I know the tentacles tend to put humans off.”

“Nice suit,” Akechi said.

“I rather think so. Now, then. Goro Akechi.” Nyarlathotep studied him. “I know you aren’t convinced.”

Akechi raised his eyebrows. “Convinced of what?”

“You agreed to talk terms. You didn’t agree to join me. I could force you, but I’ve found that a willing servant is much more useful than a slave. So…consider this a company tour.”

The fog cleared. Akechi knew instantly where they were.

He’d been on this bridge a hundred times. A thousand times. It was a busy place: four lanes of traffic with bustling sidewalks on either side. Thousands of people crossed it every day, in cars or otherwise. None of them gave Nyarlathotep or Akechi a second glance.

Akechi stood there watching the crowd. He knew what was behind him. He knew why they were here. There was a pit in his stomach.

Nyarlathotep glanced over Akechi’s shoulder. “How much do you know about your mother, Goro?”

“Don’t call me that,” Akechi replied automatically, and caught himself. “Not much.”

“Aiku Akechi. She was an interesting woman. A rising star in the political sphere. She graduated top of her class, attracted a lot of attention. She had her pick of jobs. And then she met Masayoshi Shido.”

Akechi closed his eyes, swallowed the dust coating his tongue, and turned around.

It was funny. He remembered his mother being so much…bigger. She’d always been slim, like him, but she’d been far taller than he was, striding purposefully ahead at the grocery store or the park or wherever else they went. He remembered constantly jogging to keep up, clutching at the hem of her skirt, panicking whenever he lost track of her.

“I was right here,” she’d say when he eventually found her, tearful and frightened. “I just walked over to get some eggs.”

If he’d had the chance to grow up alongside her, if he’d been able to slowly reach her height and surpass it, would he still be surprised by how small she was? How frail? Or did he see her as small and frail now, balanced precariously on the ledge, because he knew what was about to happen?

“At the time,” Nyarlathotep said, “Shido was a local politician, a councilman in Inaba. He sought Aiku Akechi out and offered her a position on his staff. She liked him. He was charismatic, thoughtful…he said he wanted to help people. He wanted to build a society where no one could be left behind again. Where justice prevailed.”

An iron railing separated the sidewalk from the edge of the bridge. Akechi vaulted over it, padded closer to his mother. She stood on the waist-high concrete barrier overlooking the open expanse of water far below. He recognized her outfit: the pale blue dress, the short-sleeved cardigan, whipping in the wind. She’d had an interview that day, he recalled. Some office job.

“Humans are such complex creatures,” Nyarlathotep remarked. “She loved you, you know. She really did. But every time she looked at you, she remembered Shido’s hands, groping and pinching. His mouth on hers. His breath against her neck. And, most vividly, she remembered one unfortunate afternoon when she went into the office alone, and he was there.”

God, but she looked like him. _He_ looked like _her_. Her long, fine brown hair was tumbling down out of its bun; her eyes, dark as coffee with just a hint of scarlet, were wide and wet. He’d seen her face countless times, in his dreams but also in his mirror. She looked gaunt. She looked hopeless. She looked dead.

“Three months later, when she told Shido about her _situation_ , he fired her. He told everyone that she’d been flirting with him, that she was unprofessional and couldn’t be trusted. She was blacklisted. Everywhere.”

Tears spilled down his mother’s cheeks and dried almost instantly in the brisk air.

“No matter where she applied, no matter how far she moved, she couldn’t seem to escape his influence. No one respectable would hire her. Couple that with the stigma of having a bastard child and, well…anyone would crack under the pressure.”

Nyarlathotep eyed the people hurrying past, heads low.

“So many witnesses,” he said. “So many people who could have stopped her. Do you know what they were thinking?”

Their whispers filled Akechi’s ears.

_I shouldn’t get involved. I don’t have time to help. If she wants to jump, why should I try to stop her? I’m not strong enough to pull her back from the edge. What if she pulls me down with her? Someone else will call the police. Someone else will say something._

“Would you like to know their names?”

Akechi spun around, hackles raised, teeth bared. “ _Yes_.”

Nyarlathotep leered. “How badly?”

Akechi clenched his fists, dug his nails into his skin.

“I don’t blame you,” the god said, shrugging. “After all, if just one of them had acted, she’d still be alive. And you wouldn’t have had to suffer the way you did.”

If someone like Ren had been there _—_

Where had _that_ come from?

Nyarlathotep narrowed his eyes. “How long did it take the police to come for you, Goro Akechi?”

Too long.

That day, Akechi had come home to an empty apartment. He was used to that by then; at ten years old, he’d been more than capable of taking care of himself, and often had to, given his mother’s…unconventional employment. He’d made himself a snack, done his homework, eaten dinner, and put himself to bed, all without imagining anything was wrong. When she still wasn’t back the next morning, he’d assumed she’d spent the night with a client. He’d gotten up, eaten breakfast, and shuttled off to school, expecting a normal day.

Until he was summoned to the principal’s office, and the inspector waiting there said, “Sit down, son.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Akechi said. “It took twenty-four hours. Someone found her body downriver.”

Nyarlathotep clucked his tongue. “An inauspicious end for such a promising young woman.”

Behind Akechi, there was a scraping sound. Akechi’s stomach dropped into his feet; he turned—

—and watched Aiku Akechi step out into the void, open her arms, and fall.

“I could give you the power to exact your revenge,” Nyarlathotep said. “To make everyone who stole her from you suffer the way you suffered.”

Akechi was glad his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He didn’t trust himself to refuse.

“It was six years later, wasn’t it, that you found your father?”

The landscape shimmered, shifted. Akechi was standing before a heavy wooden door in a darkened house.

“I granted you Loki,” Nyarlathotep reminded him. “I knew you’d need him to bring Shido low. It was clever, ingratiating yourself to him. Building him up so you could tear him back down. Inspired.”

Akechi heard the clink of metal, the creak of a floorboard. He stifled a sigh as his own self, three years younger, slunk into view.

He’d been so nervous. He remembered how his hands had trembled, how the excitement and nausea had merged in his gut like alcohol, turning him light-headed, giddy. With Loki simmering just beneath his skin, he’d felt capable of anything. He’d relished the thought of spilling someone’s blood. Would he do it with a knife? A saber? A gun? A gun could be silenced—not that it really needed to be, in the Metaverse—but a blade allowed for a more personal touch.

Akechi didn’t move as his past self approached. He didn’t have to. Past-Akechi phased right through him, paused to listen at the door. Hearing nothing, he opened it.

Wakaba Isshiki’s desk stood against the far wall, framed by the starlit sky through a massive window. All her lights were off—why did she and her daughter both like to work in the dark?—and the blue glow from her monitor shone in her dark hair. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, echoing loud in the hush.

“Wakaba Isshiki,” said Akechi.

She stiffened, swiveled toward him. “Who are you?”

“Your doom,” he replied, grinning. (Present-Akechi resisted the urge to roll his eyes.) He drew his gun—on a whim, really, a stupid whim that he’d carry forward forever—and leveled it at her.

“What are they paying you for this?” she asked, surprisingly composed. “I bet I can double it.”

“I’m not being paid. This is a favor.”

“A favor for who?”

“I don’t see why that matters, do you?”

“Indulge me.” Wakaba’s glasses glinted. “Is it Shido?”

Akechi’s smile widened. “Goodbye, Isshiki-san.”

Her hand flashed through the air; he barely dodged the first throwing star, took the second in his side. He staggered, grunting, instinctively clutching the wound and snarling when it burned. Wakaba sprinted past him, into the hallway.

“ _Futab_ —”

Akechi aimed, fired.

Her momentum carried her into the wall. She left behind a thick, viscous streak of blood as she slumped to the floor.

“The first of many successes,” Nyarlathotep said. “You finally had something you were good at.”

“I was pretty good at deductions too,” Akechi murmured.

Nyarlathotep chuckled. “True enough. But…no matter how useful you were, no matter how many people you killed, Shido never really valued you. You wanted him to trust you, so that it would hurt when you betrayed him. He didn’t give a damn. You destroyed all those lives for absolutely nothing.”

Akechi looked away, his throat tight. That night, he hadn’t registered what Wakaba was saying as she ran, but he’d heard it this time. _Futaba_. She had called for her daughter. Why? She must have known they were in the Metaverse. Had she thought Futaba was there with her? Had it been simply instinct, to call for her child as she ran to safety?

Or had she meant to tell Futaba to run, while she distracted her own murderer?

Nyarlathotep peered at Akechi, smirking. “Do you regret killing her?”

“No,” said Akechi briskly. “Regret is for the weak.”

Nyarlathotep laughed, soft as velvet. “Don’t lie to me, Goro Akechi. I see right through you.”

Akechi didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

“Takuto Maruki…” Nyarlathotep shook his head. “He was useless, but he had some intriguing ideas. I awakened him to Azathoth, you know. I could bestow his powers on you. You could rewind the clock and destroy your father the moment you found him, instead of trying to spring a useless trap. You could even, if you were so inclined, bring Wakaba Isshiki back from the dead.”

Akechi narrowly managed to keep his expression impassive. _Ridiculous_. Wiping his sins from the board had never appealed to him. It would mean living a lie. He was a murderer; he had killed Wakaba Isshiki; he had killed dozens of people, directly or indirectly, in pursuit of a revenge he never achieved. Trying to deny that, or to rewrite history, was pointless.

Still, he said, “Hm. An intriguing prospect.”

The pain was swift and brutal, like a hatchet to his skull. Akechi fell to his knees, gasping.

“ _Don’t lie to me_ ,” Nyarlathotep said, looming over him, face shadowed. “If you do so again, I’ll find Ren Amamiya and kill him while you watch. Is that what you want?”

Akechi spat on his shoe. Nyarlathotep seized him by the hair, wrenched him to his feet.

“Speaking of Ren Amamiya,” the god said, and snapped his fingers.

Akechi should have guessed they’d wind up here. Somehow, he always wound up here.

There was the guard, sprawled on the floor, facedown in a growing pool of blood. There was Akechi, lean and fierce and cocky, trembling with anticipation as he approached the metal table. And, as always, there was Ren—or Joker, as Akechi had thought of him then—watching him, his white face livid with bruises.

Back then, Akechi had thought Joker expected to be saved. He’d relished the way Joker’s eyes widened as the barrel touched his forehead, as he realized what was really happening. The flicker of fear deep in his pupils as he caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of what Akechi truly was.

A lie. A ruse. It was so obvious as to be insulting. Of course Ren had known. Of course he’d orchestrated a grand plot, as complicated as possible, to save himself. Of course Akechi was crowing over a cognition, murdering the picture of Joker he’d formed in his own head.

Akechi was glad.

He’d never admitted that to himself before, but it was true. He was glad he’d been too wrapped up in his own arrogance to see what was happening. He was glad Joker had outsmarted him. He didn’t like being beaten—who did?—but in this one instance, it was necessary. It had changed his perception of the world. Not right away, but later.

“The two of you are a mystery to me,” Nyarlathotep said.

The scene played out. Present-Akechi flinched, very slightly, as Ren’s head hit the table, spattering blood. Then the room changed; past-Akechi disappeared, Ren’s corpse disappeared. Now Ren was sitting up, arms folded, legs crossed, smirking. He looked altogether too pleased with himself. Akechi felt a rush of something that he would have identified as hate, just a year ago, but now—now—

“If you had walked into that room and kissed him, he would have let you,” Nyarlathotep mused. “If I made him aware of your presence right now, he would let you bend him over the table and fuck him. He’d thank you for it, and tell you it’s because he loves you.”

Akechi gritted his teeth.

“And you’d _believe him_ ,” Nyarlathotep sneered. “After everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve experienced, this scrawny boy offers you his hand and you take it. Why?”

After a second, Nyarlathotep added, “You’re not going to answer me?”

“No.”

“There’s so much blood on your hands that you can never wash off. What makes you think he can overlook that? You killed his friends’ parents. You killed him.”

“That wasn’t him.”

“But you wanted it to be,” Nyarlathotep said, and Akechi flushed with outrage, with shame. How long had he been watching them? How much had he seen? “Has it occurred to you, Goro, that—”

“Don’t _call_ me that,” Akechi snapped, whirling around.

Nyarlathotep smiled, all fangs. “Why not? Because your mother did? Because _he_ does? He’s using you, just like everyone else. Just like Shido.”

Akechi recoiled, shook his head.

“Of course he is. He never even looked for you after you ‘died.’ He must have known you survived; why wouldn’t you? But he was relieved that he didn’t have to deal with you anymore. He only sought you out because he needed your help to defeat Erebus. Otherwise, he’d never have spoken to you again.”

“That’s not true.”

“How do you know? Because he says so? Because he purrs in your ear and puts his hand down your pants? He’s _just_ like your father. He’ll use you to get his rocks off and then climb over your body on his way up the ladder.”

You’re wrong, Akechi thought. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.

But he wasn’t sure if he was talking to the god or to himself.

“I’m offering you the kind of power that can protect you for eternity,” Nyarlathotep said, advancing on Akechi, towering higher until his shining head nearly scraped the ceiling. “You will be in control, forever. No one will ever be able to manipulate you again.”

“Except for you,” said Akechi.

“Ah, but you can trust me. You know that, don’t you? Why would I lie to you?”

Akechi could think of a dozen reasons, but he kept them to himself.

Nyarlathotep receded to a normal human size, adjusted his tie, stepped back.

“I’ll give you some time to consider your options,” he said.

He disappeared, and Akechi was alone again, floating in the fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it’s going well. don’t you?


	10. Soft Place to Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[A dream needs believing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBClDyy2uSA) _
> 
> _[To taste like the real thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBClDyy2uSA) _

Ren stayed in bed until the sun rose and he heard Sojiro moving about in the hallway. Then, unable and unwilling to keep still anymore, he got up, ignoring Morgana’s protests.

The bathroom wasn’t hard to find. Ren carefully avoided his own reflection as he splashed water on his face and neck, swished some around in his mouth, spat.

“You should be resting,” Morgana said, jumping onto the toilet.

“I rested.”

“You did not! I don’t think you slept a single minute.”

Ren’s hands were shaking, his jaw tight. He was running on adrenaline. The last time he remembered feeling like this was the morning after the interrogation room.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I have to think. I also have to pee.”

Morgana glared at him. “You should—”

Ren scooped him up. Morgana yowled and extended all twenty claws, too slow: Ren dropped him in the hall and shut the door. When Ren emerged a few minutes later, Morgana was still cleaning his rumpled fur.

“Ren?” Sojiro called up the stairs. “That you?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on down. I made coffee.”

The entire first floor smelled like it: freshly milled earth, diced peppers, damp leaves. Sojiro handed him a mug, reminding him uncomfortably of Akechi, and leaned against the counter while Ren took a seat at the table.

“Thanks for letting me stay here last night,” Ren said.

“No problem. Futaba wanted to keep an eye on you. You looked pretty banged up.”

Ren took a sip, closed his eyes. An initial wave of bitterness, like biting into a cocoa bean; a faint tingle at the tip of his tongue; a creamy aftertaste to soothe the palate. “So this is where you keep the good stuff.”

Sojiro chuckled. “Hey, the stuff at the shop’s good too. But I do keep the best for myself.”

They drank together in companionable silence.

“Futaba said it was Phantom Thieves business,” Sojiro said eventually. “Care to get into it?”

Ren set his mug down, stared at it. “Akechi’s in trouble.”

“Akechi? I thought he was—”

“Me too. But he isn’t. Wasn’t. He was…captured. I have to figure out a way to save him, but...” Ren’s knuckles whitened. “I don’t know how. I don’t even know how to reach him.”

Sojiro sighed. “Man, you kids. You sure get tangled up in some crazy stuff.”

Ren said nothing.

Sojiro finished his cup. “Right, I’m gonna head over and open the shop,” he said, clapping Ren on the shoulder. “Take it easy today, okay? Take some time to think. I know you’ll figure it out. And if there’s anything I can do, name it.”

“I don’t think there is,” Ren said, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Offer’s on the table anytime.”

He left.

Ren’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It had been doing that all night, but he’d avoided looking at it. His friends were probably filling the group chat with angst, and he didn’t need more of that in his life.

“Who is it?” Morgana asked, hopping onto the table.

“You’re not allowed on the table.”

“Sojiro’s not here to stop me,” Morgana replied loftily. “Who’s texting you?”

Ren looked.

Yep: there were 52 new messages in the Phantom Thieves group chat, 61 in the Shadow Operatives/Thieves chat, and several private messages from various people, including Ann, Ryuji, Yusuke, Haru, and Makoto. There was also a new conversation with a number Ren didn’t recognize. Frowning, he opened it.

[CHATLOG. Unknown Number to Ren Amamiya, 9:13PM, 3/20/XX]

_Hey. It’s Narukami_

_I got your number from Aigis_

_I wanted to say, I know how you’re feeling right now. I won’t get into it, but remind me once this is all over and I’ll tell you the story._

_When you’re ready to face off with Nyarlathotep, I’m with you. I’m in Inaba, but I can be there in a few hours. Just say the word._

_Yuki too. He doesn’t have a phone anymore, but if you text Aigis she’ll tell him._

Ren typed _Thank you_ and went back to review his other messages. A bunch of them were from names he hadn’t seen in a long time: Hifumi, Chihaya, Iwai…

“Morgana,” he said, “why are all my old confidants texting me?”

“I asked Futaba to tell them you needed their help.”

“I don’t.”

“You _do_ ,” Morgana snapped, lashing his tail. “It’s like you told Sojiro: you don’t know what to do. Well, neither do we. And the best way to solve a problem is to get as many ideas as you can. You should talk to them. Maybe they’ll inspire you.”

It was worth a try.

***

[CHATLOG. Hifumi Togo to Ren Amamiya, 10:28PM, 3/20/XX]

_Ren! Hello!_

_I heard you might need someone to talk to. I’m traveling right now, but I’m happy to chat anytime you’d like. Please feel free to reach out._

Traveling where? Ren wondered as he made the call. Hopefully it was in a similar timezone.

The phone rang three, four, five times before she picked up. “Hello? Ren?”

“Hifumi.”

“It’s so nice to hear your voice! I’m sorry I can’t be there in person. I’m traveling for a tournament right now. But I’m glad you called. What happened?”

He told her, more or less, paring it down to the essentials: a good friend of his was in trouble, and he didn’t know how to get him out of it.

“Honestly,” Ren said, thinking back to the night before, to Akechi pulling him into the Metaverse, “I don’t know if I _can_ get him out of it. I think maybe he needs to find his own way out. But…I don’t know if he will.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s…done some bad things. I don’t think he believes he deserves to be saved.”

“I see.” Hifumi went quiet for a moment. “I remember how it felt to learn that my mother had been arranging all my victories. To lose so publicly. I was humiliated. But…I was happy, too, because I knew it was a chance for me to start fresh. I wouldn’t have felt that way if not for you. You believed in me. As long as that was true, I could believe in myself as well.”

“I still believe in you.”

She laughed softly. “Thank you. And do you believe in your friend?”

“Yes.”

“I can hear it in your voice. As long as you keep your faith in him, he’ll find his way out. I know he will.”

***

[CHATLOG. Chihaya Mifune to Ren Amamiya, 11:11PM, 3/20/XX]

_I’m so happy you’re back in Tokyo!_

_Let’s get some tea tomorrow. My treat!_

Ren met Chihaya at a café in Shinjuku. She had already snagged a table and ordered drinks: green tea for herself, black for him. As soon as she saw him, she leapt up, beaming, and grasped his hands.

“It’s so good to see you! Sit down, sit down. So. I hear you have a friend in need.”

She listened intently to the summary, idly stirring her tea. When Ren finished, she tapped her spoon on the edge of her cup.

“Well,” she said, “I’d offer to read his fortune for you, but I know it’ll be useless.”

Ren blinked at her. Chihaya smiled.

“If you’re involved, it doesn’t matter what the cards say,” she said. “His fate’ll change no matter what.”

***

[CHATLOG. Ichiko Ohya to Ren Amamiya, 11:14PM, 3/20/XX]

_You’re back in town! That’s great!!!_

_Let’s meet up at Crossroads tomorrow. For old times’ sake!_

“Hey, Lala-chan,” Ren called, ducking into the bar. After the bright sunlight outside, it seemed darker than usual; he had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust.

“Ren-chan,” Lala cooed. “Good to see you. When’re you coming back to work? Our regulars are getting antsy.”

“Aw, leave him alone,” Ohya said. “He’s obviously got something big going on. Take a seat! Stay a while! And spill your guts.”

Ren smiled despite himself as he sat down. Ohya listened with her head tilted to one side, eyes slightly narrowed, like she always had when he fed her stories about the Phantom Thieves. Lala-chan made all the appropriate sympathetic noises.

“Hmm,” Ohya said. “This guy sounds like he’s got some serious issues. You sure you want to be hanging around with him?”

“You’re one to talk,” Lala-chan scolded.

Ohya grinned. “I am, aren’t I? Listen, Ren. You know what this guy needs right now? To see that he’s not alone. If you have a way to get in touch with him, use it. Once he knows you’ve got his back, he can do anything.”

***

[CHATLOG. Munehisa Iwai to Ren Amamiya, 11:43PM, 3/20/XX]

_Hey._

_You wanna swing by the shop tomorrow? Got something to ask you_.

Untouchable was the same as ever. Walking inside was almost an out-of-body experience; Ren felt for a split second like he was a year younger, coming in to offload some of the crap in his bag, Morgana peering over his shoulder.

Iwai waved. “Hey, Ren. How’s it goin’?”

Iwai tolerated a bit of small talk—Kaoru was doing fine; congrats on getting into college; the shop was trucking along, no problems—before he said, “Right. Now tell me about this friend of yours.”

Ren was getting pretty good at it. While he spoke, Iwai took apart a model gun, examining its components.

“Bad things, huh,” Iwai said. “Well, I know something about that. I walked around feeling like trash too, for a pretty long time. Know what finally snapped me out of it?”

Iwai glanced up, met Ren’s gaze.

“You. And Kaoru, but especially you. You never judged me for any of it. You never ran away. Hell, you convinced me to tell Kaoru the truth, so I could see that he wouldn’t judge me either. Our pasts make us who we are, but they don’t define us. We can change. Tell him that, next time you see him. I bet he’ll listen.”

***

[CHATLOG. Sadayo Kawakami to Ren Amamiya, 12:47AM, 3/21/XX]

_I hope you’re not reading this right now! You’d better be sleeping!_

_I’m stopping by the school to pick up some papers tomorrow. Gotta get ready for next term. Want to join me?_

It was strange going back to Shujin, and even stranger walking its empty halls. Without its students, the building was eerie, quiet, almost haunted. Ren was reminded of the night he’d woken up here, mind fuzzy, and followed the shining blue butterfly through the door and out of Maruki’s cognition.

“Good on you for taking your studies seriously,” Kawakami was saying as she unlocked the door to the faculty lounge. “Guess you really wanted to get back to Tokyo, huh?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Kawakami sat down at her desk, opened a drawer. “So who’s this friend of yours?”

While Ren talked, she piled books and papers into a box; plugged a flash drive into her computer and started copying some files onto it.

“Poor kid,” she muttered. “He’s lucky he’s got a friend like you, you know. I remember when I first met you, I was so tired, and so hopeless. I didn’t believe anything would ever get better for me. I wonder if that’s how he feels right now. You’ve gotta do something to show him that you’re rooting for him. That’ll give him the strength to break free.”

***

[CHATLOG. Tae Takemi to Ren Amamiya, 8:00AM, 3/21/XX]

_It’s been a while._

_If you need anything, come to the clinic_.

Ren was surprised to see an unfamiliar face behind the glass: a nurse, apparently, who smiled at him. “Welcome. Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Takemi-san.”

“I’m so sorry, she’s with a patient right now. Would you please take a seat?”

He’d barely sat down when Takemi emerged, seeing off an old man with gnarled shoulders. She glanced over at Ren.

“Ah,” she said. “You’re here. Ito-san, do I have any appointments right now?”

“Not for another hour, Takemi-san.”

“Good. Come on in. Who’s this friend?”

Takemi didn’t look at Ren while he spoke; she flipped through the charts on her clipboard instead, occasionally scribbling something. Once Ren had finished, she said, “That’s pretty tough. Are you going to give up on him?”

“No,” Ren replied fiercely. “Absolutely not.”

Takemi nodded. “Good. That’s all it comes down to. Perseverance.”

***

[CHATLOG. Toranosuke Yoshida to Ren Amamiya, 9:57AM, 3/21/XX]

_Hello, Amamiya-san._

_My staff have kindly introduced me to the “video calling” feature in this app._

_Would you help me practice using it?_

The first thing Ren saw when the call connected was Yoshida’s tie.

“Amamiya-san?” Yoshida shouted. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” Ren said. “But I can’t really see you.”

“Blast. This is harder than it looks. One moment.”

The audio crackled and the image quaked as Yoshida made some adjustments. Eventually he settled into frame, smiling. “Better?”

“Much better.”

“I want to congratulate you. You’re starting your classes soon, aren’t you? I hope my letter of recommendation played some small part in securing your place.”

“It definitely did, sir. Thank you.”

“I meant to ask—what will you be studying?”

“Psychology,” Ren replied. He’d completely forgotten about school, about the future. What did it matter, when someone he cared about was in danger? “I want to be a therapist. Maybe a school counselor.”

Yoshida’s face lit up. “A very worthy goal indeed! I’m sure you’ll do marvelously. Now…what’s this I hear about a friend of yours in trouble?”

“He’s caught up in something dangerous,” Ren said. “I know he has to overcome it on his own. I just hope I can give him the strength he needs to do it.”

“Hmm,” Yoshida said, stroking his chin. “I have no doubt that you can. You inspired me, after all, to stick to my principles even when I was at my lowest. And you inspired countless others, as well. …You know, I’m proud to hold this office, but it’s a heavy burden. Every day, I hear from my constituents. Some of them oppose me; some of them are grateful to me; some of them are hurting terribly. Even when I’ve faced what felt like impossible odds, the weight of their expectations kept me going. Show him that there are people counting on him. Not just you. Everyone around you.”

***

[CHATLOG. Shinya Oda to Ren Amamiya, 12:02PM, 3/21/XX]

_I don’t really play Gun About anymore, but…wanna meet up at the arcade in Akihabara?_

Shinya trounced him.

Ren probably would’ve lost anyway; he hadn’t played Gun About in a year, and even though Shinya claimed he was rusty, he’d somehow managed to improve on perfection. On top of that, though, Ren was distracted. A plan, misty, indistinct, was forming in his brain. Ren knew that Akechi could find his way out of the Metaverse if he wanted to. Ren just had to make him want to: had to help him see that he was worthy of being saved. He’d tried saying so himself, but it hadn’t worked. Maybe…

“Whew, you’ve gotten really bad,” Shinya said, and paused. “Sorry. That was mean.”

“Nah, you’re right,” Ren said, hanging up his gun. “I’m out of practice.”

“So…who’s this guy you’re worried about?”

Who was Akechi? Ren had heard some variation of that question eight times today. Now he realized that he’d never really answered it.

“He reminds me of you,” Ren said. “Back when I first met you. Remember, you were at war with those kids?”

Shinya tugged at his cap, nodded.

“My friend’s been at war with the whole world for a really long time. He’s made a lot of enemies. But I care about him, and I want him to be happy. I need to find a way to help him change.”

Shinya scuffed his foot thoughtfully against the floor.

“He should apologize,” he said. “To everybody he’s hurt. Even if they don’t forgive him, it’ll make him feel better.”

Ren practically heard a _click_ as the final puzzle piece snapped into place. He smiled.

“Thanks, Shinya. That’s great advice.”

***

[CHATLOG. Yuuki Mishima to Ren Amamiya, 2:25PM, 3/21/XX]

_Dude!!! Why didn’t you tell me you were back in Tokyo?? We should hang out!_

_I’ll be in Akihabara for the next couple hours. I hope I see you there!_

“Wooooooow,” Mishima said. “Wow!”

They were walking toward the station. Ren had told Mishima a much more detailed version of the story than he’d told the others; he figured he could handle it.

“So this dude sacrificed himself to save you,” Mishima said, “and he still thinks he’s a bad guy? Man. He needs therapy.”

Ren laughed. “He really does.”

“Seriously, though, he’s got a killer sense of justice. Is he part of the Phantom Thieves? If he’s not, he should be!”

“He’s turned me down every time I ask.”

“A loner! That’s so cool. He’s like Batman.”

“Yeah, well, even Batman joined the Justice League eventually.”

Mishima smiled. “Y’know, Futaba made it sound like you were really torn up about this, but you seem pretty okay to me.”

“I feel better now. Thanks for talking with me.”

“Anytime, man. Later!”

***

When Ren got back to Leblanc, Sae was sitting at the counter.

“There he is,” she said, getting up. “The man of the hour.”

“You look better,” Sojiro remarked. “You know what you need to do, then?”

Ren nodded.

“I knew you’d figure it out,” Sae said. “It’s good to see you again, Ren. Tell Akechi I owe him sushi.”

“I will.”

Sae waved to Sojiro and left.

“All right, get on upstairs,” Sojiro said, motioning toward the attic. “Everyone’s waiting.”

Ren was halfway past him when he said, “Hey.”

Ren turned. “Hm?”

“Over the years I’ve realized that it’s easy to take other people for granted,” Sojiro said, stubbing out his cigarette. “You kind of assume they’ll always be around, and you assume they know how much you care about them. How important they are to you. But it’s nice to hear it said out loud sometimes.” Sojiro eyed him. “If you all care about Akechi, you gotta let him know.”

Ren smiled. “We will.”

“Good. Go on.”

Ren’s friends were waiting for him in his room. Sumire beamed; Ryuji straightened up; Ann sat forward; Yusuke lifted his head; Futaba clasped her hands behind her back; Makoto smoothed her skirt; Haru set down her teacup. Morgana sprang up onto the dresser.

“So?” the cat said.

Ren looked around at all of them, stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yu is talking about nanako.


	11. No One is Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Someone is on your side](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unVTf5_p_1A) _

Akechi didn’t realize he’d been asleep until he opened his eyes.

He was standing in front of Café Leblanc. The sunshine soaked warm and soft into his coat, strangely comforting. No one was around, but in the distance he could hear the bustle and hum of the main street.

He waited for Nyarlathotep to show up. What would he say this time? That Akechi was weak for liking coffee? That Sojiro Sakura’s curry wasn’t all that great anyway? _I can give you the power to become the greatest curry chef in the world_! Akechi snickered despite himself.

But Nyarlathotep didn’t come.

A breeze wafted by, smelling of cherry blossoms. There were no cherry blossom trees in Yongen-Jaya. Where had it come from?

And why would Nyarlathotep make it?

Carefully, Akechi reached out, gripped the doorknob. Nothing happened. He turned it, opened the door, and stepped inside.

It was dark and cool; after a moment his eyes adjusted, and he froze. Sumire was leaning against one of the tables with her hands clasped in front of her, her wide red skirt rustling softly as she tapped her foot. Across from her, perched on the counter, was Morgana, busily grooming his face.

And casually propped against the bar, hands in his pockets, was Ren. Akechi was seized with the absurd urge to hug him.

The door clattered shut behind him, making him jump. The others looked around. Sumire beamed; Ren smiled, his eyes shining.

“You’re here,” Akechi said. “You’re _really_ here.”

“Akechi-kun!” Sumire exclaimed, dancing up to him and taking his hand. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Akechi- _kun_? Is that what we’re calling me now?”

“Yes! I mean, as long as you’re okay with it. I thought it was time. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Akechi stared at her. She blinked, looked at Ren.

“Did I come on too strong?”

Ren shook his head. Akechi rallied.

“What shall I call you, then?” he asked. “Sumi-chan?”

Sumire wrinkled her nose. “Oh, no. No thank you. Just Sumire will be fine.”

“All right. Sumire. What are you three doing here?”

“Not just us,” Morgana said, flicking an ear. “Everybody’s here. Ryuji, Ann, all the Phantom Thieves. Narukami and Yuki too, right?” Morgana asked Ren, who nodded. “This guy figured out a way to bring us in here with you. We can’t get you out, but we can give you the strength to break free.”

“We care about you, Akechi-kun,” Sumire said. “You think you’re alone, but you’re not. We’re all beside you. We’re going to prove it, one by one.”

Akechi frowned, tugged his hand away. “Did you put them up to this?” he asked Ren.

“I told them to be honest,” Ren said. “That’s all.”

Sumire touched Akechi’s arm. “You and I don’t have nearly as much baggage as the others, so this might sound a little hollow, but…I want to get to know you better. So hurry up and get out of here, okay?”

Akechi tried to speak, but his throat betrayed him. Sumire pointed behind her, to a door that didn’t exist in reality.

“Ryuji’s waiting for you,” she said. “He’ll tell you where to go next.”

Akechi stood there, mind whirling. This was a trick. They weren’t here at all, not really; or they were, but Nyarlathotep had possessed them and was forcing them to do this. They didn’t mean it. Nobody had ever meant it. Nobody—

Morgana sprang onto his shoulders, dug his claws in. Akechi flinched and shook him off. The cat landed lightly on a table and spun around, tail bottlebrush.

“What are you waiting for?” Morgana demanded. “Go!”

Akechi swallowed glass, and went.

***

He was standing in what appeared to be a school courtyard. The sun blazed in a beautifully blue sky, beating especially hard on him. He glanced down and raised his eyebrows: he was wearing a red and white tracksuit, much too heavy for this weather.

“Hey.”

Akechi looked round. Ryuji Sakamoto stood a couple of feet away, leaning into a hamstring stretch with both hands propped on one knee. He was wearing a similar outfit, albeit with a much more sensible sleeveless shirt and shorts.

“Hello,” Akechi said.

Sakamoto’s brow furrowed. He straightened up, lifted his arms over his head, leaned sideways.

“I’m s’posed to talk to you, I guess,” he said. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“Say whatever Joker told you to,” Akechi advised. “I’m sure he wrote quite a pretty script.”

“Damn it,” Sakamoto grumbled, dropping his arms to his sides. “I knew this was a stupid idea.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“Because he said it’d help you! He said if you knew how we really felt about you, you’d be able to get away from that...thing.”

“And how do you really feel about me?”

“I hate your guts,” Sakamoto snarled, and sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Nah…that’s not true.”

Akechi couldn’t help it. “It’s not?” he said, really surprised.

“No, dude, it’s not,” Sakamoto retorted. “I mean—I should hate you. I did, for a while. You thought you were so much better than us. You killed—all those people. You tried to kill Ren. You were the worst. But…”

Akechi, who prided himself strongly on being able to predict everyone’s next move, was at a loss.

“Look.” Sakamoto turned, stuffed his hands into his pockets, glared at the ground. “My dad was a piece of shit too, all right? And I was pissed about it. I walked around mad at everybody for years. I pushed people away, I said things I shouldn’t…I even ruined a good thing for people I cared about, all because I couldn’t keep my cool. I didn’t _kill anybody_ ,” he added, viciously, “but…I was a jerk.”

Akechi shifted his weight, leaned to one side.

“It’s different now, though.” Sakamoto’s face softened. “I changed. I started runnin’ again. I’ve got friends, real friends. Good friends. I ain’t yelled at anybody in ages. And that’s because I found people who cared about me.” Sakamoto scuffed his heel against the grass. “Ren, and the others. I wanted to be better because I knew they were counting on me. And I am. I’m still working on it, but I’m better.”

Akechi looked away.

“So what I’m sayin’ is,” Sakamoto said, “I know what it’s like to be pissed all the time, and do bad shit because of it. But you don’t have to be like that forever. There’re ways to let it out. And if you ever need a spotter, I got you.”

It took a long time for Akechi to find his voice.

“Thank you, Sakamoto,” he said, quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sakamoto smile.

“Call me Ryuji,” Ryuji said, clapping Akechi’s shoulder so hard that Akechi actually staggered. “Whoops. Sorry. Anyway, good talk, man. Ann’s waiting for you over there.”

He pointed. Suddenly, ridiculously, what had been a school building morphed into a row of shops. One of the doors opened on its own.

Beyond it was a small, bustling café, the air sweet with the smell of fresh pastries and tea. Akechi checked his outfit: thank God, the tracksuit was gone, replaced by his usual peacoat and black pants.

“Akechi-kun!” Ann Takamaki shouted, leaping up from one of the tables. “Over here!”

Akechi braced himself for the other patrons to react, but none of them spared her a second glance. She beckoned him over, patted his chair, resumed her own.

“I’m glad to see you’re holding up okay,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Ryuji wasn’t too tough on you, was he?”

“No. He was actually almost…kind.”

“That’s good!”

“Where are we?”

“This is my favorite place in Tokyo,” Takamaki replied, smiling fondly around the room. “It’s where I realized Ren was my friend. We used to come here all the time when we were in school.”

“Ah,” Akechi murmured. “It’s nice.”

“It is. I hope we can come here in person someday, you and me. I think you’d like it.”

“You’re probably right.”

Takamaki toyed absently with her napkin.

“So,” she said. “So.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Oh! Sure!”

“How much of this did Ren orchestrate?”

Takamaki frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did he tell you all what to say? Where to take me? How to act?”

“Nooo,” Takamaki said, shaking her head. “No. He said we should be honest with you about our feelings. He said no matter what we told you, it would help you get stronger.”

Akechi slumped back in his seat. “So…you all genuinely wanted to do this?”

“Yes, Akechi-kun. We did.”

He shut his eyes, rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

There was a pause, punctuated by the soft murmuring of the other patrons, the clink of cups and cutlery.

“I owe it to you, really,” Takamaki said at last. “I mean, if someone like me got a second chance…”

She was playing with her napkin again, her eyes distant.

“I cried that first time Ren and I came here. Kamoshida was…harassing me, and I’d convinced myself that no one would believe me if I came forward. That I was the only one suffering. I was wrong. He was hurting lots of people.”

Takamaki lowered her head, twisted the napkin between her fingers.

“I hated him so much. There was a second, after we defeated him in his Palace, where I wanted to kill him.” The napkin ripped. “I wanted to shoot him. Blast his brains across the wall. But—”

Akechi braced himself for the inevitable: _But I couldn’t_ , she would say, _because I’m a good person, and you’re not_.

“—I realized that was too easy.”

Akechi lifted his head sharply. Takamaki tipped her chin up, her eyes blazing.

“Death was nothing,” she growled. “Death was the easy way out. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted everyone to see him for what he really was. I wanted him—”

“To lose everything,” Akechi whispered.

“ _Yes_.”

Takamaki flung down her napkin, tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“So I get it,” she said. “If I hadn’t had Ren and Ryuji and Morgana to guide me, I don’t know what I would’ve done to Kamoshida. Who I would’ve become. So the least I can do is offer to guide you too, as much as I can. If you start to feel lost, tell me. We’ll figure it out together.”

Something in Akechi’s chest, wound tight as a spring, loosened.

“Thank you, Takamaki-san.”

“Call me Ann.”

The walls of the café faded, drew inward, until Akechi stood in a small, dingy room. A bedroom, if the futon balled up against the wall was any indication. All of the other walls were heaped high with paintings: barely sketched, half-finished, acrylic, watercolor, all manner of landscapes and portraits and abstractions.

Sitting before the single window, his back to Akechi, was Yusuke Kitagawa.

“Kitagawa-san,” Akechi said.

Kitagawa turned. “Ah. Welcome. Here, come and see.”

And he stood up and moved aside. Akechi stared.

Propped on an easel was a portrait of Akechi himself, staring head-on from the canvas. His face was smooth, serene, the quintessential Detective Prince; but the colors that made him up were harsh and vivid, great swaths of crimson and violet and gold blended together to suggest something approaching the rabid hunger that constantly dogged him. At a glance, he might have been smiling; or he might have been baring his teeth in a frenzied snarl, ready to pounce.

It was…nothing like looking in a mirror. Akechi had never seen himself like this before in any context. He had never _recognized himself_ like this before.

“It’s…”

Kitagawa smiled. “You’re speechless. I’m touched.”

“How did you—”

“It took quite some time,” Kitagawa said. “And multiple failed attempts. But it was worth it, to get it right. I’ll admit, I’m quite proud of it. I think it’s an excellent likeness.”

Akechi shook his head. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

“Mm. It’s a difficult thing to realize about oneself.” Kitagawa studied the portrait for a moment. “How much do you know about my upbringing, Akechi-kun?”

Akechi raised his eyebrows. “I know you were raised by Ichiryusai Madarame. I know he took you in after he let your mother die.” Kitagawa’s face contorted, but he motioned for Akechi to continue. “I know he stole paintings from his students, including yourself.”

“He was abusive,” Kitagawa said. “Not to me, but to everyone else. He would belittle them, tear down their work, strike them if they argued. He would withhold food, and lock them in their rooms for days. The smell…”

Akechi knew exactly what he meant.

“But he never did it to me. I still don’t know why. I’ve tried to understand, but…there is no explanation. Did he love me? Care for me? If so, why? And why didn’t that spur him to be kinder, gentler? To admit what he’d done to my mother?” Kitagawa sighed. “Did you know, Akechi-kun, that when the Phantom Thieves first approached me about my sensei, I rejected them?”

“I did not,” Akechi said.

“Yes, indeed. I told them they were liars, slanderers. I said that if they didn’t leave me alone, I would call the police. But they were right. Madarame was a monster. I resisted admitting it because I thought he loved me. I thought I was special. If I spoke up about what I’d seen, it would mean losing the only man I’d ever thought of as my family. Not to mention the creature comforts to which I had become accustomed.”

Kitagawa turned to Akechi. “You wanted Shido to value you too, did you not? You wanted him to love you.”

All the air rushed out of Akechi’s lungs like he’d been punched. Kitagawa nodded.

“If not for the Phantom Thieves,” Kitagawa said, “I would be a very different person. I would have grown up lying to myself, continuing to believe that the sensei I loved so much was pure and good and kind. They helped me see the truth, and they’ve helped me stay on a righteous path ever since. Please allow me to do the same for you.”

Akechi didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded.

“You may call me Yusuke,” Yusuke added. “Makoto is next. Do you need a moment?”

Akechi coughed, drew a ragged breath. “No,” he said. “I’m ready.”

The walls flew outward again, expanding rapidly into a massive room lit with a thousand dazzling lights. Beneath Akechi’s feet, the floor changed, rising up at an angle, turning green and red and black. His clothes changed too, bleaching white as bone; his red mask appeared over his eyes, the long nose extending outward like Pinocchio’s. He was standing in the center of the massive roulette table where they’d fought Sae’s Shadow. Sure enough, she knelt on the soft green fabric in her ridiculous fishnet dress, panting.

“ _She’s just a Shadow_ , you said,” Makoto—or rather, Queen said, stepping up beside him. “You couldn’t understand why I wanted to talk to her.”

“I knew she wouldn’t remember the conversation. It seemed pointless.”

“She’s my sister.” Queen clenched her fists, leather creaking against her skin. “I knew she was still in there somewhere, if only I could reach her. I was right. We never took her Treasure. She woke up because of me, and because of Ren.”

“I’m glad,” Akechi said.

Queen cut him a glance. “You mean it, don’t you? You really are. Were you glad then, as well? Did you want her to get better?”

Akechi thought about it.

“I…was disappointed in her,” he said. “Her sense of justice was so strong, yet she became so distorted. It seemed to prove that no one, after all, was infallible. I didn’t believe that she could be helped, and I was too distracted by my ‘victory’ over all of you to follow up on her condition. So at the time, no. I didn’t care what happened to her either way.”

“But you do now.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Akechi spread his hands helplessly. “I haven’t seen Sae-san in over a year. Why should I give a damn how she’s doing? But I do. A few months ago, I looked her up, just because. She finished mopping up Shido’s case, and now she’s helping wrongly convicted felons clear their names. It seems she’s found her calling. And I’m glad.” His voice caught. “I’m glad she proved me wrong.”

Silence. Then he heard Queen turn toward him.

“I know how it feels to have your future decided for you,” she said. “For the world to tell you that you’re one thing, and one thing only. It’s like being shackled. And when you break those shackles, sometimes…you hurt people in the process. You have to seek forgiveness, and you have to take responsibility for your future. I learned that the hard way. If I can help you with it, I will.”

Akechi barked a laugh. “You all are the strangest people I’ve ever met.”

“Lucky for you.” She punched his arm, not at all gently. “Now get out of here.”

The lights faded, the walls contracted—

Ice crystallized in Akechi’s veins.

 _He was in Wakaba’s office_.

It was the same. The threadbare carpet. The cream-colored walls. The huge chair. The desk. The only difference was the view through the window: of a vibrant, sunny day, instead of the winking stars.

He tensed when the chair started to turn, and relaxed only a fraction when it revealed Futaba Sakura.

She sat there, gazing at him, her eyes huge and shining. Presently she slipped from the chair, padded across the room, tilted her head back to hold his gaze. He didn’t move. He didn’t dare.

When she spoke, it was in a rough, choked voice, thick with tears. “Why did you kill my mom?”

Akechi took a deep breath. “Because Shido told me to.”

“But you hated Shido,” Sakura countered. “Why would you do what he wanted?”

“I needed to prove myself useful so I could gain his trust. Once I had that, I could—”

Sakura reared back, slammed both of her fists into Akechi’s chest. He flinched.

“But _why_?” she demanded, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Why, why, _why_? Your mother died too! They told you it was your fault too! Why would you do that to somebody else? To _me_?”

Akechi opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Are you just gonna stand there? Answer me!”

“I don’t have an excuse,” he managed. “I don’t—”

“I don’t want an excuse! I want a reason. Tell me the reason!”

Akechi had never thought about it before. He had to stop, look away, examine the question like a crime scene. In many ways, it was a crime scene.

“I didn’t think about you,” he said finally, lowering his voice. “To me, at that time, Wakaba Isshiki wasn’t a person. She wasn’t a mother. She was…an object. An obstacle to overcome. I was so caught up in getting my revenge that anyone who stood in my way, even indirectly, was disposable. So I disposed of her.”

Sakura was weeping. She backed away, buried her face in her hands.

Akechi’s nails bit into his palms, his shoulders buckling under a terrible weight.

“I regret it,” he blurted.

Sakura sniffled. “Huh?”

“I said, I regret it. She didn’t deserve to die. You didn’t deserve to lose her. I’m sorry that I took her away from you.”

Sakura hiccupped. Akechi couldn’t look at her. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, the bitter tang of shame. Eventually, Sakura gulped a breath, wiped her face.

“I don’t hate you anymore,” she said. “I used to. I haven’t forgiven you, but…I don’t hate you.” She shook her head. “I know better than anyone that people can change. I mean, look at me. If Ren believes in you, I do too.”

“That’s more than I deserve,” Akechi said.

“I know. Don’t screw it up. Oh, and!” Futaba drew herself up, clenched her fists. “If you hurt Ren! I’ll throw you out a window! Got it?”

“Hah. Got it.”

In a blink, he was back outside, the wind ruffling his sleeves and pushing his hair into his face. He was standing on a gravel path snaking through rows and rows of flowerbeds. This place would have been Yusuke’s fondest dream: a riot of color, greens and reds and blues and oranges glowing from soft petals, from ripe fruits. The air was sweet and heady with the smell of flowers, of food, of fresh, damp earth.

Faintly, he could hear someone humming. Rolling his shoulders, he advanced down the path.

Akechi paused beneath a finely carved wooden archway. Ahead of him, Haru Okumura knelt on a small pillow in the grass, singing to herself as she clipped dead leaves from a plant.

“Akechi-kun,” she said without looking around.

Akechi stepped forward. “Okumura-san.”

“You’ve spoken to the others?”

“Yes. You’re the last.”

Okumura made a soft sound, echoed by the _snick_ of her shears.

“I spent this past year furious with you,” she said, conversationally. “I used to wake up shaking, remembering your face. Remembering how you pretended to be our friend. Just like all the other men in my life, you thought I was stupid. You thought you could lead me around by the nose and dispose of me when I stopped being useful to you.”

She set down her shears, took off her gloves, turned around.

“When we stole my father’s Treasure,” she said, “I thought he was finally going to get better. I thought, _Now he’ll be like I remember. He’ll love me again_. But you killed him. You took that possibility away from me.”

Akechi held her gaze, hard and stark as iron.

“And I had to pick up the pieces. I had to sort through the wreckage of not just my life, but his too. I hated you for it. When you died on Shido’s ship, I felt sorry for you, but I was also relieved. _Finally_ , I thought, _it’s over. I can move on_.”

Okumura straightened up, brushed off her trousers.

“It turned out to be more complicated than that. I was glad you were dead, but I felt guilty for being glad. Even moreso because I understood you, a little. I know what it’s like to be treated like a pawn in someone else’s game. It turned me into a frightened little girl. It turned you into a monster.”

Akechi bowed his head.

“So I pitied you, and I hated you, and eventually I realized I had to forgive you,” Okumura said. “Somehow.”

“And have you?” Akechi asked.

“Not yet. But I’d like to. To do that, I think we have to move forward together. We can’t forget the past, but we can make new memories to dilute it. That’s what I want to do.”

“I’d like that, Okumura-san.”

“You may call me Haru.” Haru looked around thoughtfully. “I know: I’ll teach you how to garden. I think you might like nurturing things.”

Akechi’s dry throat clenched as he swallowed. “I think you might be right.”

Akechi expected to return to Leblanc. Instead, when the walls closed in, they were tall, metal, studded with massive rivets; shadows stretched across steel floors, staircases to nowhere winding up and up into a high ceiling crisscrossed with pipes. Akechi frowned up and around, and when he shifted his weight, realized he was wearing his Black Mask outfit.

“What—”

“Ah,” said a high, pleasant voice. “Here you are.”

Akechi felt a perverse thrill. There, not ten feet away, was himself. Not his cognitive self, not exactly. It was wearing his clothes, and his small, composed smile, and the soft, gooey stare he effected for the ladies in the audience, but its eyes were golden instead of brown. As he watched, his doppelganger erupted in turquoise flames; when they faded, he was dressed in white, stark against the dingy backdrop of Shido’s ship, his cuffs, cape, and mask red as fresh blood.

Akechi burst out laughing. “And just what the hell are you?”

“I’m you,” the Detective Prince purred, drawing a blue saber. “And you’re me.”

“Nonsense,” Akechi sneered. “You’re just a mask I wore. A lie I told.”

“I’m what you wanted to be from the start.” The Detective Prince touched his mask; Robin Hood appeared behind him, arms crossed, chin held high. “A _hero_. Someone who could save the day. Beloved by the masses. Never alone again.”

“A child’s stupidity. I know better now.”

“You sure?” said an unfamiliar masculine voice, behind him.

Akechi spun around. A young man with silver eyes and hair was standing there, flanked by—Akechi relaxed—Makoto Yuki and Ren. Or, well, Joker, given his outfit. The silver-haired man offered Akechi his hand.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Yu Narukami.”

“Akechi,” Akechi replied, shaking it briefly.

Yuki tossed his hair out of his face and brandished his sword by way of greeting.

“So what is this?” Akechi asked, motioning at his other self.

“That’s your Shadow,” Narukami said. “It’s the part of you that you won’t acknowledge.”

“That thing isn’t a part of me. It’s a false identity I cooked up for attention.”

Narukami sighed. “The longer you deny it, the harder this’ll be.”

“What are you—”

“ _Megidola_!” the Detective Prince cried.

The sky parted, and great arcs of bluish-white lightning rained down upon the four of them. Narukami and Yuki dodged; Akechi took one directly in the chest, like a bomb going off behind his sternum, and howled; Joker hooked him around the waist and hauled him out of the way of the others. Spitting, Akechi flung him off.

“I just have to kill it?” he said, drawing his saber. “That’s fine!”

He launched himself at his Shadow, but his blade passed through empty air. He landed, pivoted, blocked a strike from the Detective Prince, and threw him backward with a rough shove. The Shadow turned the throw into a flip, and as he regained his balance cried, “Robin Hood! _Kougaon_!”

He missed: Akechi darted sideways, summoned Hereward. “ _Laevateinn_!”

The blast scored a long scratch in the floor, but its target was already elsewhere.

“Why are you doing this?” Shadow Akechi asked, aiming another strike. “You know you can’t defeat me. If you could, you’d have done it already.”

Akechi countered, landed a blow: blood stained one beautiful white sleeve. He grinned. “You lost out long ago. I’m just sending you back where you belong.”

“Where I belong? Are you sure about that? As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you don’t exist.”

Akechi faltered. The Detective Prince swung his saber, but Yuki intercepted him, parrying the blow.

“ _I_ am Goro Akechi, Japan’s youngest, finest detective,” said Akechi’s Shadow. “ _I’m_ the one everyone loves. The one adults respect as an equal. You are nothing.”

Akechi elbowed past Yuki, lashed out; the Detective Prince ducked easily beneath his blade, leapt forward, and raked him across the ribs as he passed.

“You’re alone,” his Shadow said, spinning on his heel to aim another slash. “Hopelessly, terribly alone. And why wouldn’t you be? You’re disgusting. Lower than an animal.”

Light flashed as the Detective Prince’s weapon rebounded off of a transparent barrier. Akechi looked around, saw Narukami lowering his hand.

“Think about what he’s saying, Akechi!” Narukami called. “Is he telling the truth?”

“Look out,” Joker barked.

Akechi barely ducked the bullet that crackled through the air, too close.

“Hereward,” Akechi said, “ _Rebellion Blade_!”

Hereward drew a massive, gleaming sword, raised it high, brought it down across Robin Hood’s chest. Shadow Akechi staggered, gasping, and Akechi pressed his advantage by drawing his own gun. His first shot grazed his doppelganger’s cheek; the second struck his shoulder; but then the Shadow recovered, and threw up a barrier to deflect the final few bullets.

“Anyone who says they know you is lying,” the Detective Prince said, scything his hand through the air. “ _Kougaon_!”

Akechi was engulfed in light; it lashed his skin, cracked his bones, wrenched a shriek from his throat.

“What is there to know, after all?” Shadow Akechi asked, his voice rising, distorting. “A tragic backstory? A desperate grab at vengeance? There’s nothing inside you. You’re a husk! A shell!”

“ _Hassou Tobi_!” Joker cried.

The Detective Prince yowled as Yoshitsune rained a dozen blows upon Robin Hood.

“ _You_ ,” the Shadow hissed, rounding on Joker, blood fizzing at the corner of his mouth.

Akechi, on his hands and knees, tried to rise, couldn’t. The cut in his side throbbed.

“You and your _pity_ ,” said Akechi’s doppelganger, lunging at Joker, cutting through empty air. “You and your _understanding_. It’s infuriating! You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know anything about him!”

“ _Diarahan_ ,” Yuki said quietly, resting his hand on Akechi’s shoulder. Akechi felt a rush of warmth, renewed strength.

“Thank you,” he said, getting up.

“You think you love him?” Akechi’s Shadow demanded. Joker narrowly dodged a white-hot blast of Physical energy. “The only thing you love is yourself. He’s your mirror image, your twisted twin. You love that you can—”

Joker slammed his dagger's hilt into the back of the Shadow’s head, flinging him onto his stomach. In an instant he was back on his feet, whirling around.

“ _Hassou_ —” Joker began.

“ _Debilitate_!” the Detective Prince roared, and Joker stumbled. “ _Megaton Raid_!”

Robin Hood drew back his bowstring, fired. The arrow whistled through the air and struck Yoshitsune full in the chest, the point emerging bloody between his shoulderblades. Joker went pale, dropped to one knee, clutched his sternum.

“You think you know him?” said Akechi’s Shadow, striding forward, lifting his saber. “I’ll show you what he thinks of you.”

Akechi drew his gun, aimed, fired.

The Detective Prince jerked as the bullet struck him in the neck, shot out the other side in a shower of blood. He choked, coughed, fell forward onto his hands and knees.

Akechi stared at him for a moment, panting. Then he holstered the gun and padded over to stand beside him, studying his heaving shoulders.

“You’re right and you’re wrong,” Akechi said softly. “In public, I hid behind you because I assumed no one would want me the way I was. No one ever had. My mistake was thinking you and I were separate, when we were really two halves of a whole.”

The Shadow rolled onto his back. His amber eyes shone with tears; blood trickled from his mouth.

“I told myself that seeking justice was naïve,” Akechi added. “Childish. That you were just a skin I had to wear to avert suspicion. I was wrong. I’m not only one thing.” Akechi glanced over at Joker, who stood up, put his hands in his pockets. “And that means I don’t have to hide. I may not understand it, but there are people who care about me. Who want to know me. Whatever I am.”

His Shadow closed his eyes, flickered, and dissolved into a thousand points of light. For a moment, they hung there in brilliant silhouette; and then they dispersed, spiraling upward and surrounding Akechi. A surge of heat billowed into his chest.

 _I am thou_ , said a quiet masculine voice. _Thou art I_.

A man appeared in front of him, hovering a few inches off the ground. Not a brawny superhero, not a twisted trickster. Just a man, dressed in a green tunic over brown trousers and knee-high leather boots. He wore a battered chainmail vest and a pointed helmet that framed his sorrowful, handsome face, and he held a long, mottled gray sword that had clearly seen battle too many times to count.

 _I am Mordred_ , the Persona sighed. _I brought down King Arthur, for his court was corrupt, and sentenced Albion to a Dark Age. I am you._

Mordred disappeared. Akechi felt the familiar flutter in his heart of a new power, lifted his chin as a whirlwind of flame spiraled around him. His visor shrank into a black and red domino mask, flared at the corners into horns that brushed his temples. His striped jester’s suit split into a faded scarlet tunic over maroon pants and rust-colored boots, with a leather belt around his waist for sheath and holster. The tunic was studded with hundreds of dull, discolored metal rings, like chainmail woven directly into the fabric. His gauntlets gave way to simple black riding gloves, soft and supple.

He touched the rough, heavy hilt now hanging at his waist, and drew his sword. Not a saber. Just a sword, pitted and tarnished, but sharp.

“Wow,” Yuki said.

“I wish we had cool outfits like you guys,” Narukami said.

“Feeling better now?” Ren asked, taking off his mask.

“Yes.” Akechi sheathed the sword. “Thank you.”

“If you need anything else,” Narukami told Ren, “let us know, okay? Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

“See you around, Akechi,” Narukami said. Yuki nodded at him, and they both vanished.

“Well,” Akechi began, and Ren caught him by the wrist and pulled him into an embrace.

“ _God_ ,” Ren whispered, burying his face in Akechi’s shoulder. “It’s so good to see you.”

Akechi held his breath, listening, waiting. Surely now Nyarlathotep would come crawling out of his hidey hole. He must have sensed Akechi’s reawakening; he must know that Ren was here. But nothing happened. Akechi relaxed, and rested his hand against the back of Ren’s head.

In a flash, they were both standing in Ren’s room at Leblanc—or, at least, in its cognitive copy. They were back in their regular clothes, Akechi in his peacoat and Ren in his blazer. Ren drew back, touching Akechi’s cheek, looking him up and down.

“If he’s hurt you, I’ll kill him,” he said.

“You should probably kill him regardless,” Akechi replied. “How did you manage all this?”

Ren beamed. “I broke the rules. It’s up to you now, though. I can get in here, but I haven’t found a way to get you out. I think you need to do that yourself.”

Akechi barely heard him. He was noticing, for the first time, the hollows of his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes—

Akechi bristled. “You’re exhausted!”

Ren laughed, almost giddy. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve run yourself ragged, haven’t you? Don’t you have any sense? Go on,” Akechi said, pushing his shoulder. “Go home. Rest.”

“You’ve got twenty-four hours, all right? Twenty-four hours, and then we’re coming back for you.”

“Do not come back in here. I’ll find a way out myself.”

“I’m sure you will,” Ren said. “But if you don’t—”

“I will. Now go, before he finds you.”

Ren cupped Akechi’s face and kissed him, swift and sweet. Akechi gripped his wrist, squeezed it, shrugged him off.

“Go,” he said fiercely.

Ren gave him one last, lingering look, and went, leaving Akechi alone in the fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuki: [extremely vine voice] wow


	12. Is It True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence, gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[I’m gonna count to three and then I’ll raise my head, singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd4O4bKz7rA) _
> 
> _[One, two, is it true?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd4O4bKz7rA) _
> 
> _[Is it true, what he said?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd4O4bKz7rA) _

[CHATLOG. Ren Amamiya, Yu Narukami, and Makoto Yuki, 8:56PM, 3/22/XX]

 **Yu** The earliest train from Inaba is at 9:00 tomorrow, so we’ll be there about noon  
**Yu** We’re meeting at Café Leblanc, right?

 **Ren** Yes.

_Makoto is typing………………._

**Makoto** Can you find your way from the station?

 **Yu** Of course  
**Yu** I know Leblanc

 **Makoto** OK good

 **Ren** Thanks, guys.  
**Ren** I’ll see you tomorrow.

“Speaking of which,” Morgana said, peeking over Ren’s shoulder, “I think it’s about time we hit the hay.”

Ren nodded, shut his book, and stood up from the counter. Akechi’s twenty-four hours were up, and he still hadn’t made an appearance. Their best bet now was to destroy Nyarlathotep. So, tomorrow, they were going in. All of them.

“We’d better come up with a plan before we make the jump,” Morgana added. “With this many people, we’ll need a real strategy. And I don’t think we should split up, either. It’d be too easy for him to pick us off that way. We should—”

As soon as Ren touched the banister, the wind shifted. He froze.

“What was that?” Morgana whispered, bristling.

Slowly, Ren lifted his head to stare up the darkened staircase. Goosebumps rippled up his arms.

Something was wrong.

Something upstairs.

“Is it him?” Morgana asked, claws pricking Ren’s skin.

Ren nodded, backed up, took out his phone. His chat app had disappeared. So had his camera app, his browser, the call icon, his contact list…every form of communication, gone. Poof.

Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, he strode across the café to the door and set down his bag. Morgana wriggled out of it and watched as Ren gripped the doorknob, turned it, pulled. The door didn’t budge. Clenching his teeth, Ren leaned backward as far as he could, willing it to move, willing it to open, even a couple inches, that would be enough, come on, _come on_ —

With an almighty groan, the door popped from its jamb and allowed a scant few inches of clearance. Not nearly enough for Ren. But—

“Go find Futaba,” he told Morgana. “Tell her to call the others.”

Morgana’s eyes widened. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll find another way out.”

“There is no other way out!”

“Then I’ll make one.”

“You’re not gonna try to fight him alone, are you? That’s suicide!”

The door jerked; Ren managed to catch it before it slammed shut.

“ _Go_ , Morgana.”

The cat swished his tail, shook himself, and darted out into the night. No sooner had he passed through than the doorknob ripped itself from Ren’s grasp, and the door closed with a final _bang_.

Ren took out his phone again, tapped the Meta-Nav. At once, with a flicker of blue flame, he was Joker. He put his hands in his pockets and went upstairs.

He was expecting a tentacle monster. What he got, instead, was a man. Nyarlathotep was humanoid, but clearly not human: no human alive had ever had skin quite that color, mottled grey and beige; or hair that shimmered and glistened like an oil slick. His arms were clasped behind his broad, almost precisely triangular back, and he was smiling, revealing twin sets of fangs.

“Trickster,” the creature said.

“Call me Joker.”

Something unpleasant flashed in Nyarlathotep’s red eyes. “Fine. _Joker_. First of all…you knew I was watching you, didn’t you? During your little counseling session with Goro Akechi?”

“Yes.”

“Were you surprised that I didn’t stop you?”

“You couldn’t have stopped me. Not with the others there.”

Nyarlathotep’s smile faltered, flattened. “Is that so?”

“Yes. You can’t face us all at once and you know it. That’s why you keep cornering me.”

“An interesting theory,” the god purred. “At first, I was simply curious. Could you really, I wondered, reform a man like Goro Akechi by throwing a gaggle of crying teenagers at him? But then I realized that you were unlocking his true potential. A second ultimate awakening! I have to thank you. You’ve made him quite the powerful puppet.”

“He’s not your puppet.”

“Oh but he _is_. He’ll be my shining knight, leading the charge as I bend this world and all the people in it to my will. Whether he likes it or not.”

Joker took a deep breath, let it out, _fwoo_. “What have you done with him?”

Nyarlathotep wagged his finger. “Ahhh, why would I tell you that? I wouldn’t want you going after him. Now…to borrow his phrase…rest easy, and die.”

The ground dropped out from beneath Joker’s feet and he plummeted into absolute, utter darkness. He spread his arms, kicked his legs, found no purchase, nothing to cling onto. The wind roared in his ears as he picked up speed, trenchcoat billowing around him. He shut his eyes, focused—

 _There_. A white light glinted to his left, shifting overhead as he hurtled past. Joker flicked his wrist, snagged the object with his grappling hook, and swung himself around and through an open window—

—into a small, dimly lit room, lined with cubicles and filing cabinets. An office. Joker landed in a low crouch, touched the ground, listened. Silence. He straightened up.

A mass of tentacles burst through the window behind him, seized him by the waist, lifted him up. Growling, Joker drew his dagger and lashed out. One tentacle squealed, retracted, oozing a brackish fluid; but the others redoubled their grip, snaking around his shoulders and legs and touching him in places he definitely did not want to be touched.

“Yoshitsune,” he barked. “ _Hassou Tobi_!”

The flurry of blows set him free, and he switched quickly to Cybele to heal the damage. Then he vaulted onto one of the cubicles and made his way across the room, leaping from wall to wall, until he could clamber through the transom over the door and drop—

—into a ditch filled with ankle-deep scummy water, surrounded by walls writhing with insects. Joker lifted his arm—

 _No, I don’t think so,_ said Nyarlathotep's voice, and just like that, Joker’s grappling hook was gone.

“Metatron,” Joker said. The angel grasped his wrist, spread its great wings, and rose toward the sliver of sky far above them.

They were halfway there when a sharp, jet-black slab, like a giant obsidian blade, burst through the wall. It plunged into Metatron’s chest, slammed him into the opposite wall and pinned him there. Joker felt his own ribs split, cartilage sever, felt blood moving where it didn’t belong; he coughed, tried to inhale, choked—

He lost his grip, landed hard in the water and swallowed a mouthful of foulness. Retching, he struggled up on shaking arms, touched his mask.

“Cybele,” he croaked. “ _Diarahan_.”

Warmth flooded his veins, healed his wounds. Stomach seizing, he staggered to his feet, collapsed against the wall, recoiled when something cold and moist skittered across his neck. _Up_ was clearly not an option. He needed a door. A passage. A way out.

He heard whispering behind him, and turned to find a tall, curved door covered with thick, clinging vines. Smirking, he drew his dagger, slashed through the greenery, and shouldered it aside.

Now he stood in a long hallway lined with black walls, lit overhead by buzzing fluorescent lights rimed with mold. Joker’s boots slapped wetly against the concrete underfoot; something in the distance dripped steadily.

Ten feet on, the path forked. Joker hesitated, considering. Both directions looked exactly the same. There was probably no real way out of here; he might as well—

Someone screamed, harsh and guttural, away to his left. Joker’s hair stood on end.

“Akechi?” he shouted.

It was definitely him: the second bellow had an edge of rage to it. Joker sprinted toward the sound, ran headlong into a dead end; the wall to his right slid aside, and he ducked through, clenching his teeth when Akechi shrieked again. He sprang across a gap, holding his breath, his heart pounding in his ears—

A blue door in a black jamb. Joker threw it open, leapt inside

“Joker _don’t_ ,” Akechi said, too late: a dozen smoky tendrils erupted from the floor, bound Joker’s ankles, his wrists, his torso; they slammed him against the wall, held fast against his struggles, coiled around his throat and squeezed until he coughed, until purple spots bloomed across his vision.

Akechi flung himself forward, almost wrenching both arms from their sockets as the tentacles around his elbows tightened their grip. He was frantic, desperate, trying to shred his restraints and getting nowhere, the leather of his gloves slipping on their clammy surface. Joker’s lips were turning blue. He opened his mouth with a horrible rattling noise—

“Stop it _stop it STOP IT,_ ” Akechi howled. “ _Let him go._ ”

“Or what?” said Nyarlathotep, appearing beside Joker.

“I’ll kill you,” Akechi spat, lunging again, bellowing when the tentacles threw him back against the wall. “I’ll tear you to pieces! _Let him go_!”

Nyarlathotep smirked. The bind around Joker’s neck loosened; he slumped, wheezing.

“I made a mistake, setting him free,” the god said, twisting his fingers into Joker’s hair and tilting his face up. “I didn’t believe you genuinely cared about him. I imagined, when push came to shove, that you would choose your own life over his. I am delighted to be wrong.”

“Fuck you,” Akechi said. “ _Fuck_ you.”

“There is nothing so useful as a hostage, you know. What would you do to stop me from hurting him?” Nyarlathotep shoved Joker’s head hard against the wall; Joker gasped. “You can’t kill me. So what else is there?”

“I can think of a hundred things.”

“Each of them more violent than the last, no doubt.” The tendrils holding Joker shifted: two of them pulled his wrists behind his back, two more coiled around his chest and stomach, and the one at his throat pushed his chin upward. “Of course, you could always surrender. I keep my promises. Yield to me, become my champion, and I’ll let you keep him as a pet.”

“Don’t,” Joker said hoarsely.

Nyarlathotep shot him a look. Something went _crack_ ; Joker’s eyes flared wide, and the color drained from his face. He staggered, groaning.

“What’ll it be, Goro Akechi?” Nyarlathotep asked. More tentacles emerged from the floor at Joker’s feet, wrapped themselves around his ankles, his shins, his thighs. “How far do I have to push him before you give in?”

Akechi startled as something thick, ropy, and cold coiled around his own leg, probing up and up and up. Another tentacle, identical to the ones just now reaching Joker’s hips—

A red-gloved hand landed on his shoulder. “Crow. This isn’t real.”

It was like being struck by lightning. Akechi’s sword was in his left hand, sturdy and true as he cut through the tentacles binding his arms; he swapped it to his right, drew his gun, shot Joker in the head.

WHAT? Nyarlathotep roared, eyes going black, shadows billowing around him—

The tentacle around Akechi’s leg withdrew, opening a great blaze of pain across his skin. He stumbled. Joker, the _real_ Joker, pushed open a door behind them and pulled Akechi through it.

They ran down a foggy corridor, surrounded by the twisted metal and crumbled rock of what seemed to be a fallen building. Akechi clenched his fists against the throbbing in his leg, forcing himself to keep moving, even as Joker pulled ahead—

Akechi’s foot slipped. He landed hard on his hands and knees, pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Crow,” Joker called. Then, more urgently, “ _Crow_!”

He sounded very far away. Akechi pressed the heels of his hands against his thigh. He could feel blood sloshing in his boot when he moved; it had soaked through his trousers, turning them the color of wine, a deep dark red approaching black. His fingers and lips were numb, his face hot.

Joker skidded to a stop beside him, knelt, stared dumbfounded at the trail of blood stretching behind them. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded. “Cybele! _Salvation_!”

Nothing happened.

“ _Salvation_!”

Nothing. He could feel Cybele trying, but nothing was—

 _No more magic_ , Nyarlathotep said, echoing in Joker’s skull. _It’s cheating_.

Akechi’s breath came shallow. Joker rummaged through his bag, produced a Soma, pressed it into Akechi’s mouth. The color immediately came back to his cheeks, the light to his eyes; he started to rise—

—and fell right back down again, with a strangled cry, as the wound reopened.

I SAID _,_ Nyarlathotep bellowed, icy wind whipping around them, NO MORE CHEATING.

“Damn you,” Joker whispered.

Nyarlathotep cackled. _The wound won’t heal until one of you delivers your soul to me. I don’t care which one. Both of you are worthy to bear my mantle. Goro Akechi—do you value your life enough to yield?_

“Not a chance,” Akechi said, baring his teeth.

 _I thought as much. What about you, Joker? I’ll make you the same offer I made him. Submit, and I’ll let him live. He’ll have to be caged, but better a cage than a grave_.

Joker’s knees were damp: Akechi’s blood had soaked into his trousers.

His brain whirred in overdrive, running scenarios, weighing options. Running away was not one of them. Akechi wouldn’t be able to move like this, and Ren couldn’t carry him. There was only one choice, then: he’d have to fight, no matter how much it felt like the wrong call.

Nyarlathotep was right. Ren had never actually defeated anything alone, give or take a couple of minor Shadows. Every major battle, every real struggle, he’d faced with his friends, or with Akechi, who was more than that. Even when they’d fallen away to let him briefly take the spotlight, he’d known they had his back, and that knowledge had given him the strength he needed to land the final blow.

If he fought—

 _What is the alternative_? Raoul rumbled. _Flee, and let Akechi die? Or worse?_

“Joker,” Akechi panted, lips thin. “You should leave me.”

 _No_.

“Not this time,” Ren said. “Never again.”

He unbuckled his bag, set it down beside Akechi.

“There’s another Soma in there, and some Takemedics, and a couple of Life Stones. Keep yourself healed up. I’ll stop him.”

“Ren,” Akechi said, as Joker stood up and turned. “ _Ren_.”

Joker advanced into a massive arena: thousands of empty benches rising up to a high, curved silver dome, studded with pipes and beams. Nyarlathotep floated in the center, shadowy and indistinct except for his giant, gleaming eye, twisted with glee.

“You truly are something else,” he crowed. “You know you’re going to die! I can see it in your face! Why are you still trying? Why _bother_?”

“I’m sending you back to hell, where you belong,” Joker said. “Yoshitsune!”

The legendary general appeared above him, brandishing his twin swords. Nyarlathotep burst out laughing.

“Incredible! Incredible. I’m going to enjoy killing you, Joker. I’ll draw it out nice and long, so your darling Goro can see you suffer.”

High above them, in the thicket of metal crisscrossing the ceiling, something gleamed. Joker spread his feet, leaned forward, clenched his fists.

Nyarlathotep descended, great tendrils of smoke curling out of his oblong body and morphing into thick, shining tentacles. He settled like a great black octopus onto the ground, still towering over Joker, black stripes writhing within his bright iris.

DIE.

And then the landscape changed. Suddenly the god, and Joker, and Akechi were all ensconced within a bright, beautiful, flowery field, and Ann and Morgana were hurtling through the sky, Ann firing twin machine guns and Morgana lobbing a massive cartoon bomb. Nyarlathotep screeched as bullets blazed across his tentacles; lashed out wildly as the explosion threw shrapnel into his eye.

“We can’t use skills?” Ann demanded, as Morgana rushed over to Akechi.

“No skills,” Joker confirmed. “Healing items will work for a minute, but then the wounds reopen.”

The arena reappeared. Huge oily patches bloomed across the floor; Shadows began to clamber out of them, Hastur and Byakhee and a number of other abominations with claws that hummed and clicked and suckers seeping poison.

“Protect Akechi,” Joker ordered.

“Got it,” Ann said, falling back, drawing her whip.

“How did you get in here?” Nyarlathotep snarled, looping his tentacles around himself. “How—”

Then he was in the middle of a wrestling ring, and Haru and Makoto were clambering over the ropes, raining blows with fists and axes and ladders and all manner of other ridiculous objects. Nyarlathotep thrashed and howled, flailing at them, missing every strike. When he finally broke free of their illusion, screaming so loud that a mouth ripped itself open beneath his eye, Makoto and Haru flashed past Joker to help Ann with the crawling hordes.

Nyarlathotep lifted his tentacles, balling them into humanoid fists, but before he could bring them down Yusuke and Ryuji were on him, sending black blood flying through the air as they bashed and slashed him nearly to pieces. Yusuke scored a long blow across his pupil, spraying jelly.

“Joker!” Sumire cried, and Joker snagged a pipe with his grappling hook, swung himself upward, caught her neatly as she leapt from the ceiling. The rest was easy: a flurry of bullets, two blades singing through the air, an explosion of light as the world seemed to split at the seams, unleashing an energy that made Nyarlathotep actually _flicker_.

“Got him!” Futaba announced, hovering above them, light glinting across her Persona’s silver surface.

ENOUGH, the god roared, quivering, vibrating until he was a blur, his eye expanding and expanding and expanding. ENOUGH. ENOUGH. ENOUGH _._

“Round two!” Futaba said. “You know the drill!”

Joker, Sumire, Ryuji, and Yusuke squared up.

Nyarlathotep _burst_. Joker shielded his face as black fog rolled across the arena. When it cleared, the monstrous tentacles were gone; the massive eye was gone. Nyarlathotep was human again. Now, though, his skin was cracked and blistered, revealing dark, reptilian scales underneath; his eyes were completely red and weeping; his jaw rattled loose from his skull, his tongue dangling down to his navel and soaking his shirt with spit. He dragged one foot forward, and then the other, leering at them.

“I haven’t had to try this hard,” he said, without moving his mouth, “in _years_.”

“No weaknesses,” Futaba said. “No vulnerabilities. Hit him hard!”

“Yoshitsune,” Joker said. “ _Hassou Tobi_!”

“ _Masquerade_!” Sumire shouted.

“ _Brave Blade_!” Yusuke said.

“ _God’s Hand_!” Ryuji yelled.

Their own blood spattered the floor as they landed those strikes, blinding arcs and explosions of light that tossed Nyarlathotep left, right, up, down. He laughed, got back up, and they did it again. Still he rose.

Suddenly his head snapped back in a shower of bullets, skin peeling away to reveal a twisted, claylike skull.

“Akechi!” Morgana spat. “Knock it off!”

“Don’t waste your stamina!” Futaba snapped. “I’ll kill you if you die!”

Ryuji sprinted forward, smashed his weapon into Nyarlathotep’s head. Laughing, Nyarlathotep swung his fist, and a much larger, shadowy version appeared in midair and slammed into Ryuji, throwing him sideways. Yusuke caught him, helped him up, and Sumire slipped past them to deliver a series of stinging blows with her rapier, branding a star into Nyarlathotep’s chest. His shadowy hand closed around her waist, tossed her into the air. Joker anchored his grappling hook, hauled himself upward, caught her as she fell and set her gently on her feet.

Then he spun around, touching his mask. “ _Hassou Tobi_!”

Nyarlathotep stumbled, jerking wildly as Yoshitsune’s blades bit into him again, again, again, again. With each blow, an answering cut opened across Joker’s back, his shoulders, his chest.

“Joker!” Sumire gasped, grabbing his arm. “You have to stop using that! One more and you’ll—”

“ _Laevateinn_!” Akechi snarled, behind them. The blast raked across Nyarlathotep’s throat, laying it open in a wash of red.

Joker started to turn, opened his mouth, but Ryuji beat him to it, zipping past Ann and Makoto to sock Akechi across the face.

“Will you stop doin’ that?” he snapped. “You wanna get yourself killed?”

Akechi spat, wiped his mouth. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, stop tryin’! Just sit there and let us save you!”

There was a high, uncanny screech, like a skyscraper twisting in a tornado, as the dome above them split down the middle and began to open. The sky beyond it seethed with greasy black clouds; blue lightning lanced between them, rumbling like thunder.

“ _Look out_ ,” Futaba cried.

A colossal bomb went off. The world went white. Through the sudden ringing in his ears, Joker could hear metal tearing, concrete cracking, his friends screaming; he couldn’t tell if he was yelling too, except that his throat hurt, except that his entire body hurt, every nerve raw and stinging with salt, with brine. He was doubled over, no, kneeling, no, flat on his face, hot and cold at once, hair matted with sweat. With blood.

Then it was over. He lay there, panting.

A sharp boot connected with his ribs, digging into one of the gashes across his side. Joker grunted.

“You’ve beaten me,” said Nyarlathotep, wonderingly. He kicked Joker again, this time in the temple; Joker saw stars. “You’ve beaten me! You _maggots_.”

He grasped the back of Joker’s trenchcoat, hauled him upward, making the room tip and spin. He was…disintegrating. Half of his face had blown away like so much ash. Joker watched (through one eye because the other one was swollen shut) black, acrid dust seep from the myriad wounds across Nyarlathotep’s neck and shoulders, rising toward the darkened sky.

“Joker,” someone said, a feminine voice, Sumire or Makoto or Futaba or Haru or Ann. Nyarlathotep extended his hand, and there was a crash of thunder, and they didn’t speak again.

“I can’t decide,” Nyarlathotep said, flinging Joker onto his back, “if I should kill you, or kill all of your friends and let you live. Perhaps I have time to do both. Yes.”

He planted his foot on Joker’s sternum and leaned his full weight on it. Joker fumbled at his ankle, coughing, trying to breathe through lungs that wouldn’t expand.

“I’ll kill them one by one,” Nyarlathotep purred, “and make you watch. I’ll save Goro for last. And then, once you’re alone, completely alone, I’ll kill you too, for the satisfaction of watching the light leave your eyes. But just when you begin to think you’ve escaped the pain, that death is a mercy, I’ll claw you back, and leave you here to weep over their broken bodies.”

Something in Joker’s chest wrenched. He gritted his teeth, summoned—

Nyarlathotep ripped off his mask and threw it away. ENOUGH OF THAT.

“ _Rebellion Blade_ ,” Akechi said, high and cold.

The flash of Almighty light cut Nyarlathotep clean in two. He lifted his head, stared at Akechi, who swayed on his feet but stayed upright.

“How,” Nyarlathotep croaked.

“Don’t forget,” Akechi said. “I’m a Trickster, too.”

Nyarlathotep shuddered. His head fell back, his mouth opened—

—and he dissolved, leaving behind the smell of sulfur.

Ren pushed himself up, over, reached for his mask.

“ _Salvation_ ,” said Morgana, thin and reedy; and then, stronger, “ _Samarecarm_.”

Joker almost went limp with relief as heat flooded through him, sealing the cuts, soothing the bruises. Then he heard Sumire gasp, “Akechi-kun!”

She caught him before Ren could, lowering him carefully to his knees.

“I’m fine,” Akechi grumbled, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to push her away. “I’m all right.”

“That was close,” Futaba said, levering herself up. “That was…really close.”

“Yeah, yikes,” Ryuji muttered. “Right under the wire with that heal, Morgana.”

“Hey!” Morgana spat, bristling. “I couldn’t do anything until he was gone!”

“You did wonderfully, Mona-chan,” Haru said, sweeping him up into a hug. “We all did.”

Ren knelt in front of Akechi, gripped his shoulder.

“I’m all right,” Akechi repeated, but he let Ren lean in and rest his forehead in the crook of his neck.

After a moment, Akechi said quietly, “You’re shaking. Why are you—”

 _Beep beep_! “Hey! Good job!”

Ren’s eyes flew open. He shot to his feet, whipped around, drew his dagger. Everyone else recoiled.

“What’s the matter?” Makoto gasped.

“It’s only Jose,” Yusuke said.

“Yep!” Jose said, hopping down to the ground. “It’s me!”

Then he saw Ren’s expression.

“Ooh,” Jose said, ducking back behind his car, peering nervously out at Ren. “Nobody’s looked at me like that in a long time. Please don’t punch me.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Ren said.

“You still don’t trust me?”

“Of course not. You’re like him. You’re _just_ like him.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jose admitted sadly.

“Joker,” Morgana said, “what’s going on?”

“This,” Ren replied, “is Philemon.”

A beat.

“Who?” Ann said.

“I’m a god,” Jose said, stepping forward. “Not like Yaldabaoth or Azathoth. Like Nyarlathotep. We were the first. We were…friends, once. Until we weren’t.” He turned, looked Ren directly in the eye, and in that moment Ren could almost see the man he had been, before he’d decided to be reborn. “I promise, Trickster, I didn’t do this to you. I swore off meddling in human affairs a long time ago.”

“So you didn’t cause it, but you let it happen,” Ren countered. “You knew what he was doing and ignored it.”

“Not exactly. I didn’t realize what he was up to until it was too late to stop it.” Jose tilted his head, smiled. “Lucky for all of us, you stepped in.”

Akechi stood up, leaning on Sumire’s shoulder.

“Is Nyarlathotep dead?” he asked.

Jose shook his head. “We can’t die. We really can’t. I’ve tried. He’s gone for now, but eventually he’ll be back.”

“When?” Ren demanded.

“I don’t know. This time, it took two decades. Next time it could be longer. Or shorter. There’s no pattern. He’s not tied to anything in particular; humans don’t summon him. He summons himself.” Jose shrugged. “The best advice I can give you is: assume he’s gone for good, and live your lives. If he comes back, deal with it then. Don’t let it hang over you like a shadow.”

“This shit’s makin’ my head hurt,” Ryuji grumbled.

“Now.” Jose clapped his hands and bowed. “Thank you for stopping Nyarlathotep. Are you ready to go home?”

Ren looked around at the others, alternately anxious, confused, and exhausted. He nodded.

“We’re ready.”

Jose beamed, and snapped his fingers. Fog rolled in through the dome, pouring across the seats, pooling at their feet. It rose higher and higher, thicker and thicker, obscuring Jose, obscuring everything.

When it cleared, they were standing in Leblanc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not long now!


	13. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[So how do you say help me?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ieNK8PYoS4A) _
> 
> _[And how do you say promise me?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ieNK8PYoS4A) _

“A house call, after hours?” Takemi tutted. “This’ll cost you.”

“You know I’m good for it,” Ren replied.

At everyone else’s insistence, Akechi had consented to a doctor’s examination. He was fine, at least in all the ways a doctor could address; he hadn’t slept in three days, and his stomach was turning itself inside out demanding food, but there was nothing else wrong with him. Still, he’d allowed it, hoping it would help Ren relax.

It didn’t.

Ren stood near the top of the stairs, leaning against the shelving unit (because, Akechi could tell, he couldn’t have stayed upright otherwise). His mouth was set in a thin line, only softening when he glanced up to answer a question from Takemi or one of the other Thieves. As soon as they looked away, he dropped his gaze back to his phone. His free hand was fisted in his pocket.

“Arms up,” Takemi said.

Akechi complied, moving on autopilot. He was used to doctors: Shido had always wanted his dog in “tip-top shape,” so Akechi had had more than a few exams, most of them much less gentle than this one.

He eyed the other Thieves, arrayed around the room. Futaba crouched on the edge of Ren’s bed, talking quietly to Morgana, who was grooming himself on the nightstand. Yusuke had plopped down against the wall and was throwing shadow puppets using the light from Ren’s heater; Ryuji was engrossed, putting in demands for ever more complex animals. Makoto was on her phone, no doubt messaging her sister; as were Haru and Ann, probably catching up on work. The only one who seemed to share Akechi’s concern was Sumire, perched on the sofa beside him, who watched Ren with her eyebrows knitted and her hands clasped in her lap.

Irritation flickered like a lit match in Akechi’s gut. These people—Ren’s friends, and now supposedly Akechi’s too—had spent hundreds of hours with him. How could they not see that something was wrong? Or, if they could, how could they ignore it? They either took for granted that Ren was fine, or they assumed he would ask for their help if he needed it. Clearly they were wrong.

Takemi straightened up. Everyone looked around at her.

“You seem physically fine,” she told Akechi. “Less dehydrated than I would expect you to be, considering what you’ve been through. Drink plenty of water. And get some sleep.”

“You see?” Akechi said. “I told you.”

“It’s best to be sure,” Makoto said.

“I’ll walk you back,” Ryuji said, getting up.

“No thanks,” Takemi replied, waving him off. “I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Takemi,” Ren said.

She studied him for a moment. “Take care of yourself,” she said eventually, and left.

“Narukami says they’re still coming down tomorrow,” Ren said, to his phone. “Yuki and company too. To debrief.”

“I suppose that’s all right,” Yusuke said. “It’s not like we have other plans.”

“Aw, shoot!” Ryuji exclaimed, checking his own phone. “We missed the last train!”

There was a flurry of activity as everyone confirmed this for themselves. “Oh, man,” Ann muttered, scratching the back of her head. “A cab’s gonna be so expensive…”

“Oh!” Haru said, brightening. “What if we slept over?”

Akechi watched Ren, who glanced at Haru but otherwise didn’t react.

“Yeah!” Futaba said, leaping off the bed. “It’ll be a party, to celebrate our final victory!”

She struck a valiant pose.

“We can gorge ourselves on terrible food,” Yusuke said, rising to his feet. “There’s a convenience store right up the street.”

“And I still have a couple of sleeping bags,” Futaba added. “And tons of blankets and pillows. Probably some futons. Ooh! We can raid the fridge for leftovers!”

“Ren,” said Sumire, “is this okay with you? You seem tired.”

Ren put his phone away and smiled, not quite at her. “Sure. It sounds fun.”

“Akechi-kun?”

“Fine by me,” Akechi said. “But I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“I call the couch!” Ann said, throwing her hands in the air.

“Aw, can’t we draw straws for the couch?” Ryuji asked.

“All right, then,” Sumire said, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll call my parents and let them know.”

“Okay,” Makoto said. “It’s settled, then. Ryuji, Yusuke, and I will go to the store. Futaba, Haru, Ann, you head over to Boss’s place to get the sleeping bags. Make sure you tell him what’s happening, Futaba.”

“I’ll come with you, Makoto,” Sumire said, getting up. “Morgana?”

“I’ll st—” Morgana began, and broke off when Akechi gave him a pointed look. He wrinkled his nose and leapt to the floor. “Fine. I’ll go with Makoto. I want sushi!”

“Does this store have sushi?” Yusuke asked. “How progressive.”

“You’ll be okay here?” Sumire asked Ren, pausing as the others filed down the stairs.

Ren nodded. Sumire caught Akechi’s eye. He inclined his head. She relaxed, and smiled, and hurried after the others.

“You didn’t have to agree, you know,” Ren said. “I know sleepovers aren’t your thing.”

“Nonsense,” said Akechi briskly, rising. “I’ll be fine. More importantly, what’s wrong with you?”

Ren blinked. “Huh?”

“You look like death. Should I have insisted that the good doctor examine you, too?”

“I’m okay. Just tired.”

“You are not. Is this how it works? You go quiet, and the others ignore you until you turn back into what they consider your normal self?”

Ren frowned. “Akechi—”

“Look at yourself,” Akechi snapped. “You’re trembling. You can barely stand. You haven’t spoken to anyone for longer than two seconds since we got back.”

“I told you,” Ren said, “I’m tired.”

“Why are you lying to me? What is there to hide?”

Ren flinched, took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose.

Akechi stared at him, cataloguing details: the hunch of his shoulders, the tension in his neck, the close tuck of his elbows against his sides. “You’re _scared_.”

Ren flattened his hand across his eyes and sighed, soft and shaky. “I’m not scared.”

“You are. Do you know something I don’t? Is Nyarlathotep coming back? Is all of this an illusion?”

“Akechi.”

“ _What_ is _wrong_ with you?” Akechi insisted, grabbing Ren’s wrist. He didn’t know how to be worried without being angry, so he leaned into the rage, let it fuel his resolve. “Did you sell your soul to save humanity? Are you going to fall into a dramatic coma?”

“I’m not Yuki.”

“Then what is it?”

Ren pulled away, squared his shoulders, moved to put his glasses back on. Akechi snatched them from his grasp.

“I don’t even know why you wear these,” he growled. “You don’t need them. You hide behind them.”

“I—”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Akechi ordered, slamming the glasses down on top of the dresser. “Tell me what to do.”

Ren shook his head. “You don’t have to do anything. It’ll pass.”

“What is ‘it’?”

“This,” Ren replied, gesturing to himself. “I’m just—I just—”

Akechi pointed at the sofa. “Sit.”

Ren sat, slumped down, rested his elbows on his knees. Akechi sat beside him, crossed his arms and legs, waited.

At length, Ren said, “You nearly died.”

“ _Nearly_ being the operative word.”

“No,” Ren said, turning his face away. “You nearly died. Again.”

“I never died in the first place,” Akechi reminded him.

“But I thought you had. And tonight, I thought it was going to happen again. I was going to lose you, again. I couldn’t leave you there. So I—”

There was an edge to his voice, jagged as a broken razor, that Akechi had never heard before. “Ren,” he said. “It’s all right. It’s over.”

Ren shook his head again, quick, harsh; the tendons in his wrists stood out as he clenched his fists. “I know. I know it is. But it doesn’t matter. I almost—you almost—”

Akechi didn’t know what to do. He rarely did, when it came to Ren. With everyone else, he had options: he could deflect to a different subject; he could offer a kind, hollow word; he could shut them down with scorn. If people were obstacles to be overcome, then their pain was easy to dismiss, to discard. He didn’t want to treat Ren like that. He wanted this to be different.

If it were Akechi sitting here, splitting apart at the seams, what would Ren do?

Akechi touched Ren’s shoulder, slid his hand across to rest his palm against his neck. Ren shuddered.

“I didn’t,” Akechi said. “We didn’t. It’s okay.”

Ren made an awful sound, a muffled, desolate cry, and pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Akechi’s heart compressed.

“Ren,” he said, helplessly. “I don’t know what to—tell me how to help you.”

“You ca—” Ren began, and hiccupped. “I’ll be—fine. I just have to—”

Ren didn’t know what to do either, then. Probably he’d never broken down like this in front of someone else, much less someone like Akechi, damp and useless as a beached fish. Impulsively, compulsively, Akechi wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist and pulled him close. Ren gripped his sleeve, curled in on himself, lowered his head. Akechi would never have known he was crying if he hadn’t been able to feel the sobs ripping through him, through muscles taut as suspension cables.

“Okay,” Akechi murmured, for lack of anything else to say. “Okay. It’s okay.”

Eventually, Ren subsided. He wiped his face, coughed.

“Akechi,” he said, low and hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

“Hah! Compared to everything I’ve done to you, this is—”

“Not for this,” Ren said, and paused. “Not just for this. For leaving you behind. For letting you die.”

It took Akechi a moment to understand what he meant. “We discussed this. I told you to.”

“I shouldn’t have listened. You weren’t—” Ren’s breath hitched. “You weren’t in your right mind. I should’ve gone after you.”

“There were a dozen Shadows behind that door,” Akechi countered. “They would have slaughtered you.”

“We’d just beaten you—”

“I landed a few blows myself, as I recall.”

“You were at a disadvantage. We weakened you.”

“Because I attacked you.”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” Ren repeated. “I’ve thought about it every day since. What I could’ve done differently. What I could’ve said. I could have sent the others on without me; I could have gone back to find you; I could have looked for you afterward—I should have realized you weren’t dead, I should have known better—you’ve been alone all this time because—”

“I can’t believe you wasted so much time worrying about me,” Akechi said, but of course he could. Who did he think he was talking to? Worrying about Akechi was, apparently, all Ren did. “I _told you_ to leave me. And if you’d come swinging in like a big damn hero, I would have run you off again.”

“I could have gotten through to you.”

“You could not.”

“I’m getting through now.”

“Yes, after a year of hopeless pining,” Akechi said. “After Maruki’s Palace, after—after. What’s done is done. Everything had to happen the way it did, or we wouldn’t be here now.”

“It didn’t _have_ to,” Ren said, twisting away from him. “You made choices; I made choices—”

“Yes yes all right, fine,” Akechi snapped, feeling oddly small and cold without Ren in his arms. “That was then, and this is now. Regretting it won’t change anything.”

“It’s not about changing something. It’s about—about—”

Akechi kissed him, again and again and again with increasing urgency. He tasted like salt, like snot, but Akechi didn’t care, as long as Ren let him shut him up, let him push him firmly back against the couch and clench his fist in the front of his shirt. Ren’s hand found his wrist, played across his jaw, tangled in his hair.

“Do you need me to absolve you?” Akechi demanded, drawing back a fraction, far enough to meet Ren’s gaze. “Do you need me to accept an apology I don’t want? Fine. You’re forgiven. _I forgive you_. For everything. Letting me think I’d killed you, leaving me to die on Shido’s ship, stopping Maruki when you thought it would kill me. We are square. Clean slate. It’s never going to happen again.”

Ren kissed him fiercely, his mouth bruising, punishing; then he slipped his arms around Akechi’s waist and buried his face in Akechi’s collarbone. Akechi rested his chin on top of Ren’s head.

“And for the record,” Akechi added, “it’s foolish to beat yourself up when there’s so many assholes gunning for you. Don’t do them any favors.”

Ren laughed, fragile and halting. “Noted.”

Akechi closed his eyes. Every time they touched, especially like this, he was surprised all over again by the contradictions of Ren’s body. He was spiky elbows and jutting hips and lean, solid muscle and impossibly warm, soft flesh all at once. Akechi supposed that made sense, considering that Ren was, as a person, a constantly shifting kaleidoscope. Akechi wondered if Ren had shown anyone else this many facets of himself. He wondered how many more there were to find.

“I loved you already, you know,” Ren said, his lips branding the words into Akechi’s skin. “I realized it when you said you hated me, and I could tell you were lying. Or…not telling the whole truth.” Akechi tightened his grip. “I wish I’d said it then. I had so many chances, and I never took one.”

“You tried to,” Akechi said. “That last night, after Maruki came to talk to us. But I stopped you.”

“Ah,” Ren murmured. “I wondered if you could tell.”

“I didn’t believe you.”

“Do you believe me now?”

Akechi coughed a laugh, toying with Ren’s hair. “You faced down an eldritch god for me. It’d be ungrateful in the extreme to keep denying it.”

“I’ll say.” Ren leaned into Akechi’s touch. “Are you sure you’re up for this slumber party thing? I can still text everyone and ask them to crash at Futaba’s.”

“No. I owe them their fun. They put their lives on the line too, after all.” Akechi sighed dramatically. “I shall have to try to deserve them.”

Downstairs, the bell over the door chimed. “Hiiiii!” Ann called. “We’re baaaaack!”

“Speak of the devil,” Akechi said.

“It’s party time!” Futaba crowed.

“Are you guys, uh…decent?” Ryuji asked.

Akechi disentangled himself, got up. “What would you do if I said no?” he said, going to stand at the top of the stairs.

Ryuji blushed. “You’ve obviously got your clothes on.”

“What if Ren doesn’t?”

Ren laughed.

“Okay,” said Makoto, flustered, “that’s enough of that.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” Futaba asked. “We’ve all seen him in a swimsuit. That’s basically naked.”

“Um,” Haru squeaked.

“It’s really not,” Ann said. “Have you and Yusuke ever—you know—”

“I beg your pardon,” Yusuke said.

“That’s none of your business,” said Futaba loftily.

“I just mean like—have you ever seen a naked guy? Because it’s…super different from seeing them in swimsuits.”

“What, because of their penis? Sure, it’s weird, but it doesn’t _bother_ me.”

Futaba’s voice got louder as she came up the stairs, her arms heaped high with pillows, futons, and blankets. She dumped them on the floor.

“We got sushi,” Morgana announced, following her, his tail a question mark over his back. “And yakitori, and udon, and fried chicken—”

Ryuji and Yusuke hauled it all upstairs and plunked it down on the dresser. Akechi’s stomach audibly growled.

“Ren,” Sumire called. “Where are the plates?”

“I’ll show you,” Ren replied, slipping past Akechi.

“There’s like, six different bento boxes, too,” Ryuji told Akechi, offering him a packet of chopsticks. “Wasn’t sure what you liked. Grab whatever.”

“Thank you.”

Ann dropped a pair of sleeping bags and kicked them open. “What’re you guys gonna do about pajamas?” she asked. “We borrowed some stuff of Futaba’s, but…”

“I’ve got enough to go around,” Ren said, coming back with a stack of plates and Sumire in tow. “Let’s eat.”

***

Two hours later, the conversation was finally winding down, and Akechi was…happy.

Well. Maybe happy was too strong a word. But he was enjoying himself. He’d eaten a little of everything (and there was a lot to go around: even with nine people and a cat, they’d barely finished half of the food) and his stomach felt comfortably tight. On Ren’s orders, he’d swapped his regular clothes for a gray long-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft brown pajama pants. Where had pajama pants been all his life? Sweatpants couldn’t compare.

They’d all sat on the floor and talked about absolutely nothing of consequence. Akechi had always marveled at the Thieves’ meandering conversations. As Crow, he’d barely been able to keep up with the flow of topics in Mementos, zigging and zagging from how creepy their surroundings were to Ryuji’s favorite flavor of monja. Back then, when he chimed in, it was strictly as the strait-laced detective or the bristling jester. Now, he found, he could make them laugh with a well-placed wisecrack; with a casual observation, he could make them all go “ _ohhh_ ” and hurtle off down a new line of thought. They didn’t need him to be sweet and cloying or savage and feral. They didn’t need him to be anything at all.

Mostly he listened, occasionally shaking his head or rolling his eyes or making a face at Ren, sitting beside him. Ren didn’t say much either, but his expression was relaxed and open; the pressure on his shoulders had lifted. Akechi had done that. Akechi could make Ren happy, and he could make these people laugh. He hadn’t realized how nice that could be.

After a while, they started nodding off. Yusuke went first, burrowing into his nest of blankets and beginning to snore. Then, Akechi looked over and discovered that Ren had fallen asleep with his head resting against the bed behind them. Akechi nudged him awake, pointed. Yawning, Ren waved goodnight, climbed under the covers, and went back to sleep.

It was all downhill from there. Makoto and Futaba curled up in the sleeping bags; Morgana slotted himself into the space behind Futaba’s knees. Sumire stretched out on a futon, snuggled into a pillow, and was dead to the world. Haru did the same, and then Ryuji, and finally it was just Ann and Akechi, speaking in low voices, too tired to move.

“Okay,” Ann finally said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “I gotta sleep.”

“I should as well,” Akechi said, and hesitated.

He’d said he wouldn’t sleep on the floor. Even if he’d wanted to, there weren’t any more pillows or futons to go around. Ann had flopped down on the sofa. He could go downstairs and sleep in one of the booths, but that seemed even more uncomfortable than the ground, and it would also mean he’d be alone, which—for once, he didn’t want to be.

The mattress creaked. Akechi looked up. Ren peered over the side of the bed, sleep-tousled and, frankly, adorable.

“C’mon,” he murmured.

Akechi distinctly heard Ann giggle, felt his stomach clench. But—that was ridiculous. There was nowhere else to go, and Ren was offering, and…and Akechi had slept in this bed before, hadn’t he? He’d done much more embarrassing things in this bed. Naked things.

Somehow, that didn’t make it any easier.

Still, he stood up, brushed himself off. Ren scooted over to make room, and Akechi slipped under the sheets. They were suffused with a familiar warmth; Akechi wondered, briefly, if every person had their own unique heat, the way they all had unique voices. Ren’s mouth quirked upward into a smile. He squeezed Akechi’s hand, closed his eyes, and was asleep.

The lights. Akechi had forgotten about the lights. Carefully, he rolled onto his other side, trying not to jostle the mattress too much. He fumbled for the switch that he knew dangled somewhere between the nightstand and the bed, holding his breath, as if that would help. He found a cord, tugged it; Ren’s phone scraped across the surface of the table.

“What’re you doing?” Ren murmured, very close.

Akechi tensed, forced himself to relax. “I’m trying to find the light switch.”

Ren grunted and reached across him. There was a _click_ , and darkness fell. Ren scooted over again, fingers brushing across Akechi’s back.

“Go ’sleep,” he mumbled.

“All right,” Akechi whispered.

He didn’t think he would, but he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> futaba/yusuke is a queer relationship because yusuke is ace
> 
> also did akechi just low-key admit that thinking he’d murdered ren fucked him up a little? maybe.


	14. You Matter to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** explicit sex (dirty talk, dom!akechi, semi-public sex [the “public” is absolutely, 100% asleep], handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex)
> 
> [the sex is bracketed with horizontal lines; please feel free to skip it if it’s not your thing!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Come out of hiding, I’m right here beside you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AREDtpRZTSA) _
> 
> _[And I’ll stay there as long as you’ll let me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AREDtpRZTSA) _

The sun came spilling through the window, and Akechi was instantly awake.

He lay there for a moment, for once enjoying the warmth and comfort of an unfamiliar bed. Eventually he leaned onto his elbows, stretched like a cat, sat up. A quick sweep of the room confirmed that everyone else was still sleeping. Ren included: he lay on his back beside Akechi, head turned slightly to one side, hands folded on his abdomen.

Akechi had never had the luxury of watching someone else sleep. Granted, he’d never exactly wanted to. He’d learned early on not to let anyone into his bedroom in the various orphanages (if he could help it, which he sometimes couldn’t); and previous sexual partners had been strictly one-and-done, clean up the mess and get the hell out affairs. No one had ever convinced him to stay the night, and if they had, Akechi wouldn’t have wasted time staring at them the next morning.

Ren wasn’t exactly serene—there was a thinness to his lips that suggested he was dreaming about something important—but he certainly looked more relaxed than Akechi imagined himself to be. Akechi had been chastised enough by his dentist for grinding his teeth to know that he slept stiffly, uncomfortably. It was almost a relief to see the softness of Ren’s cheeks, the smoothness of his forehead. He deserved some respite, even if he had to be unconscious to get it.

Akechi wanted to touch him, to wake him up, to brush the sleep from his eyes, but he didn’t quite dare. Instead, he slipped from the bed, picked his way across the room, and went downstairs to pee. On his way back, he snagged one of the bottles of tea left over from the night before. He leaned against the headboard, tugged the duvet up over his lap, and drank his tea, his mind mercifully empty.

Presently he realized that Ren had stiffened, and his eyelids had begun to flicker. Akechi watched him. If he made a sound, or started to thrash, or otherwise showed any sign of real discomfort, Akechi would wake him up. But he didn’t. Instead, he relaxed again, and opened his eyes.

“Were you in the Velvet Room?” Akechi asked quietly.

Ren blinked at him, and nodded.

Akechi smirked. “Did they give you a medal?”

“Nah,” Ren murmured. “But I bet they would’ve if I’d asked.”

“Anyone else in there with you?”

“Just Yu and Makoto. You should’ve been there. Aigis, too.”

Akechi shrugged one shoulder, finished his tea. “I’ve seen enough of that place to last me a lifetime.”

He set the empty bottle on the nightstand. Ren studied him, eyes sharp and bright as the edge of a blade, roving from Akechi’s face to his throat and collarbone and chest. Akechi recognized his expression, and smiled, lazy and lascivious.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just admiring the view,” Ren said.

“Admiring, hm?” Akechi stretched out on his side, propped his head on his hand. “Not ogling? Not thinking dirty thoughts?”

“Nope,” Ren said, tilting his chin up so that his hair fell back from his face.

“ _Liar_ ,” Akechi whispered, delighted. “You’ve been awake for five minutes and you’re already horny.”

Ren pitched his voice low and husky. “It’s been a hell of a lot longer than five minutes since you last fucked me.”

* * *

A desperate hunger opened in Akechi’s stomach, reaching clawed fingers into his throat. He caught Ren’s lips in his own, and when he opened his mouth Ren did too, easily; Akechi grazed his teeth across Ren’s tongue, felt a rush of heat as Ren made a faint sound. Surging forward, Akechi pressed him down and straddled his thigh.

Ren looked up at him, dark and intense. “The others—”

“Are asleep,” Akechi murmured, pressing his thumb to the corner of Ren’s mouth.

Ren parted his lips and sucked Akechi’s thumb in one long, smooth motion. Akechi leaned down to bite his earlobe.

Ren huffed out a breath. “Ake—”

“You’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you?” Akechi purred, pressing down on his tongue. “Unless you _want_ them to hear?”

Color bloomed across Ren’s cheeks. Akechi felt a little thrill, a swoop of excitement in his belly.

“I thought so,” he breathed, withdrawing his hand, hitching up Ren’s shirt so he could skim his fingers across his chest. “How do you think they’d feel, watching me work you over like this?”

Akechi found the rapidly forming bulge in Ren’s pants, gripped it, squeezed. Ren’s head fell back, exposing the rapid flutter of his pulse; Akechi bit him there, hard.

“I wonder which of them would watch,” he murmured against Ren’s trembling skin. “We could put on an excellent show. I could bend you over that ugly little workstation, maybe—”

“Akechi,” Ren panted, low and strained, his hips beginning to buck against Akechi’s hand. “ _Ngh_ —”

Akechi sank his teeth into Ren’s collarbone, felt him swallow a moan. “Or maybe we should keep it simple. Try not to shock them too much. _I_ know. I’ll put my cock in your mouth and fuck you. My fingers in your hair, spittle running down your chin…even they could appreciate that.”

A telltale tension was beginning to build in Ren’s body. Akechi wasn’t ready to let him get there yet. He stopped stroking him, ignoring his little gasp of protest, and pushed his own leg more firmly between Ren’s, hard against his balls. Ren gripped Akechi’s hips, dug his nails in—pajama pants were _much_ nicer than slacks for this purpose, much easier to feel everything—and arched his back, working his cock against Akechi’s thigh.

“You’re _desperate_ for it, aren’t you?” Akechi whispered, laughing softly into Ren’s ear. “Like an animal in heat. You’re disgusting.”

But he kissed him again, ravenously, plunging his tongue into Ren’s mouth as far back as it would go. Ren caught it in his teeth, suckled on it, firmly gripping the back of Akechi’s neck to keep him from pulling away. Akechi knew why: he could feel the expanding dampness against his leg, could tell by the ragged edge of Ren’s breath that he was going to come.

“Ah-ah,” Akechi tutted, disentangling himself. “Not yet.”

Ren’s face was flushed, his lips red. “Goro.”

The word sent a jolt of electricity through him, like victory, like triumph. He could get used to hearing his name said like that, hot and urgent and chocolate-dark.

Ren started to sit up, started to reach for him, but Akechi pushed him back with one hand.

“You stay right where you are.” He left a line of bites down Ren’s neck to his shoulder, teasing the divots with his tongue. “Where’s the lube?”

“Top drawer.”

Ren sighed when Akechi leaned away to retrieve his quarry. He uncapped the tube with a faint _click_ , squeezed a shockingly cold dollop into his palm, tipped his hand back and forth while he waited for it to warm up. Ren propped himself up on his elbows, eyes flicking between Akechi’s hand, his face, and the obviousness of his erection.

“I hope they’re all awake,” Akechi remarked softly, pushing down his own pants, clenching his jaw against a groan as he drew out his cock. “I hope they know what I’m doing to you. I hope it drives them _crazy_.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” Ren said hoarsely.

Akechi smiled. “Good.”

He closed his fingers around his shaft, pumped them rapidly up and down until he was shining and slippery. His hips and abdomen flexed instinctively; he watched Ren watching him, watched his pupils dilate and his tongue flick out across already-wet lips. Akechi was glad he didn’t have to tell him to keep still, glad he saw the point of the game. Didn’t he always?

Another _click_ , another cold sting, another pause while Akechi warmed up a fresh coating of lube. “Take off your pants.”

Something dangerous, deadly, flashed in Ren’s eyes; it was, for a disorienting instant, like looking in a mirror. But he did as he was told, never breaking Akechi’s gaze.

“And the boxers,” Akechi said.

Then Ren was lying there in front of him, his shirt rumpled up around his armpits, his cheeks and stomach and thighs pink, his cock arcing from a nest of dark hair upward toward his navel. Akechi leaned over him, supporting himself on one elbow, bringing his face close to Ren’s as his other hand traveled down his abdomen, skirted around his straining member, and slipped beneath his thighs.

The air gusted out of Ren’s lungs in a harsh sigh. Akechi squeezed his ass, trailed his middle finger between his cheeks, felt the pucker of his asshole quiver. Ren whimpered, swallowed hard, spread his legs wider as Akechi probed the searingly hot, tight little hole, working it open with his fingertip, spreading the lube inside.

If any of the other Phantom Thieves _were_ awake right now, they would certainly know what was going on, because Ren was making noises—faintly, but still—that even Akechi hadn’t heard him make before. Ren was typically the quiet one, no matter what they were doing, while Akechi screamed and yelped and snarled enough for the both of them. But now Ren’s arms gave out and he sprawled on his back, stuffing his thumb between his teeth to try to muffle the urgent sounds bubbling up from his throat.

Akechi needed more lube, and this time he didn’t wait for it to come to temperature before he returned to work. Ren hissed; his hips jerked, his cock bouncing. Akechi was in up to his first joint, up to his second; if Ren had ever done this before, he hadn’t done it very often, because he was _so tight_. It made Akechi’s dick ache.

“Ren,” he said, looking up at him.

“What?” Ren gasped, lifting his head.

“If it hurts, tell me to stop.”

Ren swallowed and nodded. “I will.”

Akechi kept teasing him, working him looser and looser with first one finger and then a second. Ren bit down on his thumb again, twisted his other hand into his own hair, into the pillow, against the headboard. When Akechi was finally satisfied that he had enough room to maneuver, he settled between Ren’s legs and started to press into him.

Ren let out a cry that made Akechi’s elbows buckle, made his balls contract, nearly made him come right then and there. Akechi’s mouth dropped open, drool pooling on Ren’s chest as he lowered his head, tried to regain control. Ren was almost drawing Akechi in deeper, the walls of his asshole flexing and quivering against his shaft. Akechi would _not_ come thirty seconds into this. He would not. He was better than that.

To distract himself from the pressure building in his groin, he grasped Ren’s cock and squeezed it savagely. Ren whined, breathed his name: “ _Goro—mnh, Goro_ —”

“You—are—so— _tight_ ,” Akechi panted, pushing in deeper, stomach taut with the effort of holding back. “We’ll have to—fix that. Later.”

He jerked Ren’s cock, the motion made slightly less rough by the lube still slicking his palm. Ren gasped, reached up, gripped Akechi’s jaw so he could kiss him. That was better. Between their tongues moving sloppily together, and Akechi’s palm on Ren’s dick, and the lingering possibility that they had an audience, Akechi was able to slip completely inside of him, up to the hilt. When he withdrew, it was only a fraction, because any further would have been disastrous; then it was back in with a hard, sharp thrust, which reverberated right through Ren’s body to his teeth sinking into Akechi’s lower lip. Akechi snarled, flexed his hips, thrust again. Ren tensed, shuddering against Akechi’s fingers as they worked him and worked him; he was going to come first, Akechi was not going to be the one to give in—

Ren pulled back and pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth, but Akechi still heard the moan deep in his belly as his hips bucked and he came in thick, ropy stripes across both their stomachs. The slap and slip of Ren’s cum on his skin sent Akechi over the edge too; he barely had enough time to withdraw so that he came onto Ren’s pelvis, instead of inside him. As soon as Akechi’s cock was free, Ren’s hand found it, stroking it steadily until he was spent.

* * *

What followed was a brief silence as they cleaned up with the tissues on Ren’s bedside table.

“I’m going to need a bath,” Ren muttered, pulling on his pants.

“Later,” Akechi agreed, adjusting his own clothes, and smirked. “I like the idea of you walking around sticky for the rest of the day.”

“And slippery,” Ren whispered, trailing his thumb across Akechi’s lower lip.

Akechi kissed him, soft and lingering. Ren hummed and leaned up into it, threading his fingers into Akechi’s hair.

Ren drew back first, leaving Akechi’s mouth tingling. “I love you,” he murmured, as if it were an afterthought.

Akechi’s chest tightened. He had…never told anyone he loved them before. Not in so many words, anyway. He was almost certain he never _had_ loved anyone before. He’d probably loved his mother; probably all children loved their parents, on some level. But he had no memory of telling her so, and no memory of what it felt like.

“How do you know?” he asked, hating how it caught in his throat.

Ren blinked; his eyebrows furrowed, not annoyed or disappointed, but thoughtful. “I—”

Just then, there was a sound like the pealing of bells, harsh and shrill. Akechi and Ren jumped; Morgana bristled awake and shot off under the bed; Ryuji groaned, “What the hell?” and Futaba lifted her head and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“S’not mine,” Sumire mumbled, fumbling for her phone. “Nope. Not mine.”

“Please make it stop,” Yusuke said, pulling a pillow over his head.

“Mako-chan,” Haru croaked, nudging her.

Makoto lifted her head, blinked blearily, and snapped awake. “Oh!” she gasped, grabbing her phone. The sound ceased. “I’m so sorry, everyone! I forgot to turn the alarm off.”

“Why’d you have it set so early anyway?” Ryuji asked, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it, even?”

“Eight o’ clock.”

“ _Eight o’ clock_? What d’you have to do at eight o’ clock?”

“Well,” she said, defensively, “we were supposed to be fighting a major battle today.”

“Yeah, at noon! You need four hours to get ready for a fight?”

“Oh my God, Ryuji, shut up,” Ann snapped. “You’re worse than the alarm.”

Futaba gasped, startling everyone, and pointed accusingly at Akechi and Ren. “Did you two sleep together last night? Were you _snuggling_?!”

“Yes,” said Ren, and “No,” said Akechi.

“They definitely slept together,” Ann said, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head. “It was really cute. Akechi was all sad because there were no more blankets, and then Ren leaned over and was like _Come on_ , and then they totally cuddled.”

“That _is_ pretty cute,” Morgana said, peeking out from under the bed.

“Ahh, to experience such a pure romance,” Yusuke sighed. Futaba wanged a pillow at him.

“I’m so sorry, everyone,” Sumire said, looking up from her phone. “I should go home for a little while. I have some chores to do, and I should get a change of clothes…”

“Yes, I should head home as well,” Haru said. “I’ll be back at noon, though.”

Makoto got up. “Same here.”

“Hmm,” Yusuke said. “I don’t think I have the train fare to go and come back.”

“Inari,” said Futaba, exasperated.

“Why don’t the rest of us go out for breakfast?” Ann said.

“Ooh, yeah!” Morgana said. “I’m hungry!”

“Wherever we go, you can’t sit on the table, cat,” Ryuji warned.

“Wait, I know,” Futaba said, leaping to her feet. “We can go back to my house and get Sojiro to cook us something! Then we can all play _Dancing in Sunlight_.”

“What about you guys?” Makoto asked Ren.

Ren looked at Akechi, who shrugged as if to say, _Up to you_. “We’ll stick around here.”

“Okay.” Makoto clapped her hands. “Right! Let’s get everything cleaned up!”

“You don’t have to,” Ren began, but she ignored him, spinning on her heel.

“Let’s go! Everybody up! Ryuji, you too!”

“Aw, maaaaan,” Ryuji said, and yelped when Ann aimed a (fairly gentle) kick at his ribs. “Ow! Dude! Lay off, I’m still sore from yesterday!”

“Get up and help, lazybones!”

“I’m helping, I’m helping! Jeez…”

***

Ren and Akechi waved the others off, Makoto, Sumire, and Haru toward the station and Ann, Ryuji, Yusuke, Futaba, and Morgana toward Sojiro’s house. As Ren lowered his hand, the bathhouse, dark and bulky even in the spring sunshine, caught his eye. A memory stirred.

“Akechi,” he said. “If going to the bathhouse is uncomfortable for you, we could hang out at your place from now on.”

Akechi frowned at him. “Why would it—” He stopped, and shook his head, and chuckled. “I can’t believe you remember that conversation. I can’t believe I’m _surprised_ that you remember that conversation.”

“I remember every conversation.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Akechi sighed. “I told you before. I dislike the bathhouse because I have to get dressed and walk all the way across the street to use it. But I also don’t want to ‘hang out’ at my apartment. You saw it. It’s a hovel.”

 _I like Leblanc_ , he didn’t say, but Ren heard it, like an echo.

“Maybe I can convince Sojiro to let me put in a bathroom,” Ren mused. “With a tub, even. How hard could it be?”

“Extremely,” Akechi replied, dry and crisp as ale.

“I’ll look into it.”

“She killed herself, you know,” Akechi said. “My mother.”

Ren went cold and small and silent. Akechi stared straight ahead, vague, unfocused.

“She leapt from a bridge. No one tried to stop her. No one realized she was dead until her body washed up the next day. I was ten.”

Ren let the waves crash over him: the indignation, the sorrow, the pain, for this man who had been a boy whose mother had died alone, because of Shido, because he’d abused and misused her and arranged for everyone else to abandon her. Ren turned toward Akechi, studying his impassive face.

“Nyarlathotep showed it to me,” Akechi said. “The moment of her death.”

“That bastard.”

“Ha. I know. He said he could tell me the names of the people who walked by, who ignored her. I almost accepted.” He paused. “I thought about you.”

Ren tilted his head.

“You were a child at the time, I suppose, so you couldn’t have done anything yourself. But if someone like you had been there…I’ve read that suicide is an impulsive decision. Even when it comes as the result of months of planning, it’s ultimately a choice made in a split second. A concession to a disease of the brain. If someone had spoken to her…then again, her circumstances wouldn’t have changed. She might have lived a little longer. But she would have wound up on the bridge again eventually.”

Akechi shifted his weight, tugged at his cuffs.

“You came through in the end, though, didn’t you?” he said. “You defeated Shido. You avenged her, in my stead.”

“He remembered her,” Ren told him. “He said you reminded him of her.”

Rage seethed across Akechi’s body like so much boiling water. “He was,” Akechi breathed, “an abomination.”

Ren nodded.

Silence stretched between them, strangely comfortable. Ren put his hands in his pockets and rocked his hips to one side.

“That’s why I don’t know how to tell if I’m in love with you,” Akechi remarked, with pointed calm. He almost sounded like the Detective Prince; almost looked like it, too, except for the shadows under his eyes, the slight quiver of his lips. “Not for certain. I’ve never loved anyone, except perhaps her, and she left me before I really knew what love was. I don’t blame her; she wasn’t well. But the fact remains that she did.”

“I won’t leave you,” Ren said.

Akechi went still.

“Not ever,” Ren added, simply. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll let me.”

Akechi looked around at him, open and wounded and raw. “Ren—”

Ren reached over and took his hand, threading their fingers together. He wanted: to go back in time and whisk Akechi away from all the monsters who had hurt him. To introduce Akechi’s mother to people like Yoshida and Ohya, who could have helped her. To take the broken little boy’s hand and give it to someone like Kawakami or Sojiro, who would have protected him fiercely from anything, from everything. To track thirteen, fourteen, fifteen-year-old Akechi down and sit next to him at lunch before he awakened to Loki, before he decided that revenge was his best option. To extract his own heart, bruised and bleeding, and plant it in Akechi’s chest so he could feel how much Ren ached for him, how deeply he wished things could have been different. To show him all the ways Ren wanted to make things different going forward. Things they’d do, places they’d go. Together.

“How did I—” Akechi said helplessly. “What did I do to deserve—”

Ren stepped forward, rested his chin on Akechi’s shoulder, slipped his arms around his waist. “You didn’t. I decided.”

Akechi leaned against the door to the café, cradling the back of Ren’s head. “Is that all?” he croaked, laughing.

“Hey, it was hard fucking work.”

Akechi laughed again, a little hysterically.

“I can’t make you any promises,” Akechi said, pressing his other hand into the small of Ren’s back. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I. We’ll figure it out together.”

“If I do something wrong,” Akechi said, “if I—upset you—somehow, you have to tell me. You can’t just—”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.” Akechi took a shuddering breath. “Good. Okay.”

Ren squeezed him, so tight that he actually grunted, and stepped back. “C’mon,” he said, tugging Akechi’s hand. “I’d like a bath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look: you and i and ren and akechi know that nobody can guarantee they won’t leave. sometimes they don’t have a choice. but it’s a nice sentiment, and it’s what akechi needed to hear.
> 
> I’m really proud of this and I had a ton of fun writing it! I’ve got some follow-up oneshots queued, and then another Big Thing, but this particular story is over. Thank you so much for coming along, and I hope I see you again soon!!!


End file.
